


The Whores' Queen

by W0rldofmy0wn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Clarke sleeps with a number of people (you know it's kinda her job) but it's all Clexa endgame, F/F, Major revenge plot, Minor Anya/Raven Reyes, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Minor rape/non-con elements but nothing in detail, Queens and Knights and Whores (oh my!), Slow Burn, Some Clarke/Niylah but it isn't serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 337,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W0rldofmy0wn/pseuds/W0rldofmy0wn
Summary: Queen Alexandria Woods of the Kongeda has won every battle she's ever fought. By the age of twenty she had done the unthinkable and united the thirteen great houses together into one nation; by twenty-four her great army had defeated the Reapers, a monstrous people far to the south that had been invading her land and murdering her people as long back as anyone could remember. Now Queen Alexandria must face her most difficult challenge yet: find a husband and secure her line by birthing an heir. It's the oldest duty in the book and the one that makes Alexandria's skin crawl. Nevertheless she is determined to do her duty, but when she meets a mysterious blue-eyed woman her world begins to turn upside down. When she learns the woman is nothing more than a common whore her advisers and friends suggest against ever interacting with her again, but for some reason the queen just can't stay away. Her curiosity only grows when the woman starts teaching her lessons she never knew she needed to have, and everything she learns about her makes her even more of a mystery. The queen is nothing if not stubborn though, and she's determined to figure the woman out.





	1. Chapter One

In the sixth year of the young Queen Alexandria's reign, Lord Jakob Griffin of the Arkadian Hills – often called Jake by those closest to him – took his eldest daughter to visit Fief Miller, home of one of the lord's bannermen and a lesser lord in his own right. Clarke, heir to the Griffin estates and next in line to her father's title, saw the trip for what it was: an excuse for her father to not only show her more of their land and teach her more about their fiefs, but also to see if Lord Miller's son might make a good match for the heiress. At almost fifteen she knew her father and mother were beginning to seriously look into marriage prospects for her, hoping to find a match that would do their daughter and the Griffin name proud. She herself cared little; while other noble girls her age blushed and grinned at the idea of marriage, Clarke could care less about it. She was far more interested in learning about the four lesser fiefs to her father's land, that of the Jahas, Kanes, Millers and Sydneys, than who might one day soon be her husband. When not listening to the instructors her parents had hired to teach her all she could learn, she preferred riding and racing with her friends, helping them get in and out of mischief, and spending time with her younger sister. Marriage, as far as she was concerned, could wait.  
  
The Miller's estate was a full two days' ride to the east. On the back of her lively piebald mare Patches – a name she had so seriously decided upon when her parents gifted the mare to her at seven – the trip flew by. Her father rode beside her, constantly quizzing her on the plants they passed and the histories her teachers had been filling her head with, grinning at every correct answer she gave. On her other side rode Lord Jakob's squire, Wells Jaha, the only child of Thelonius Jaha, the minor lord of the Jaha estates and Jake's best friend. With only a year between them, Clarke and Wells had grown up together, becoming best friends themselves, and with Jake and Thelonius's relationship it had only made sense that Lord Griffin take him on as squire when Wells expressed an interest in a knighthood. Riding between her father and best friend with a dozen or so men-at-arms traveling around them, Clarke had a hard time doing anything but laugh as they rode through the Arkadian forest.  
  
Reaching the estate, Lord Miller met them at the gate and ushered them inside, all smiles and small bows of his head. Clarke was used to the greeting, had even come to expect it, and returned the motions directed at her with small nods of her own. She and Wells followed her father and Lord Miller into the small castle, looking around as they went. The stone structure wasn't as large as either of their own homes, but the young heiress thought it all seemed well-kept. The few tapestries hanging from the walls were clean, their colors bright and stunning in the mixture of sunlight streaming in from the windows and torches placed evenly along the walls. Servants moved about, some with armfuls of clothing or linens, others with trays or buckets or herding children, but each one of them stopped to bow to the nobles as they passed by. Clarke took it all in, only half-paying attention as she listened to her father already lost in conversation with their host.  
  
Lord Griffin's party remained at the Miller estate for five days, at times holing himself away in Lord Miller's study and at other times walking around the castle. Winter was only a few short months away and he wanted to be sure Lord Miller had everything he would need to pass the cold season. “We support our fiefs,” he would often say to Clarke, the heiress rolling her eyes after hearing it so many times, “and our fiefs support our people. A noble is only as strong as those who follow him. Or her. If our people face hardships, it's our duty to pull them through. Remember that Clarke: your first duty is always to the people who follow you.” He and Lord Miller created lists, went through their winter stores, even visited the local village to make sure the people were doing as well as reported.  
  
Clarke stayed in the thick of everything. If her father needed a list made, chances were she was the one doing the writing. She moved through their stores with quill and paper, keeping count of everything available, and by the time she finished she knew if she never saw another sack of grain again it would be too soon. When the lords traveled to the village she went with them, Patches eager to get out of the stable and get a little extra exercise. Her father had told her this trip would be a learning experience for her, and so it was.  
  
Despite how busy her father kept her, she was seldom alone while at the Miller fief. Lord Miller's son Nathan kept her company at nearly all times. Though her father said he needed the experience as well, Clarke saw right through the excuse; at seventeen, Lord Miller's second son was at just the right age for a marriage arrangement to be made. While typically a first-born son and heir would be the match a father would want to make for his noble daughter, she knew as the someday Lady Griffin her husband would be required to join her at the Griffin estate. Growing up she'd often wondered if her father would reconsider that and arrange a marriage between her and Wells, a likely scenario considering their families' ties, but no such arrangements had ever been made. Now she was thankful for it: she loved Wells but as a brother and best friend, not as a husband and lover.  
  
Whether her father thought she and Nathan would make a good match, he didn't say. Five days came and went and Jake never spoke of marriage, at least not within earshot of Clarke. Despite the way many families did it, she was relatively sure that before a potential match would be made her father would speak to her about it to get her thoughts. He always looked for her insight and opinion in just about everything, so she doubted he would ignore them with something as important as her future marital status. Nathan and his father saw their party off and Clarke waved to them as her father did before turning her focus to the road in front of her. The younger Miller seemed nice, was handsome even, but she wasn't sure she could imagine herself married to him. During their time together she'd quietly put him through tests of her own and found that though he certainly seemed smart, his wit didn't quite match up to her own. Her father often accused her of thinking too quickly for anyone else to keep up with, and she knew if she were to be married she wanted it to be with someone she didn't have to slow down for. Nathan Miller, for all he was nice and handsome, just didn't quite match her. While she knew any number of men would trip over themselves for her hand in marriage, what with her title and blonde-haired-blue-eyed looks, the idea of marriage just didn't work for her if the suitor couldn't keep up. She knew the day was coming when a suitable match would be made whether she thought he was right for her or not and dreaded it, enough that for now she pushed the thoughts from her mind.  
  
The two Griffins spent their first day of travel going over what they had seen at the Miller fief, planning out what goods of their own they could spare to help stock up where they had been lacking and the best places to purchase everything else they'd promised to send. Wells added his own thoughts to the conversation, very much an heir in his own right and learning all the same things Lord Jake taught his daughter, until they stopped to briefly rest the horses. While the horses rested Jake took over training his squire, the two drawing their swords and having a mock battle while Clarke watched on. She'd had a few sword lessons, at ten deciding if Wells was going to learn then so would she, but the training hadn't continued. Her mother decided there were other, more important lessons for a young noblewoman to learn and by twelve her days had become so full she no longer had time to keep her sword skills sharp. If she were being honest she'd admit she never really cared for the weapon, enjoying work with bows more than the heavy sword, but she was too stubborn to say as much out loud. Instead she stuck with the many other lessons in her day, squeezing in bow work when she could and left the sword to Wells and their friends Bellamy and Octavia Blake. Between the Blakes and her father, Wells had all the dueling partners he really needed, so she just didn't say anything and silently slipped the sword she'd been given to Octavia who gladly accepted it.  
  
Once the horses were rested they continued on, cutting out another handful of miles before the sun began to set behind the trees. Knowing it would be foolish to try to keep going in the dark, Jake led them to a small inn he often stayed at when traveling, one Clarke had been to a number of times before. The innkeeper was delighted to see them, telling them he'd been expecting them after their stay a few days earlier, and promised hot baths for the nobles and a warm meal for the entire party. Only a couple of hours later Clarke stripped out of her traveling clothes and changed into her nightgown, yawning by the time she let her body drop into the bed waiting for her. She knew her father was likely still up in his adjoining room, probably going back over any number of the lists they'd made, but she couldn't dig up enough energy to go join him. Her thighs and back ached after a long day in the saddle, her eyes burned, dry and tired, and despite the fire dancing in the hearth in her room there was a slight chill in the air. Laying down she tugged the warm fall blanket under her chin and closed her eyes, ready to let sleep take over so she could rest up for another day of travel.

***

Abigail Griffin, the Lady of the Arkadian Hills, gaped wide-eyed at the man standing in front of her. This man had ridden east with her husband and daughter a week ago and though she had expected them back around this time, she'd never expected this. She could read the exhaustion that bore down on him, so firmly that he practically swayed where he stood. His hair was a mess, windswept and filthy. The pants and shirt he wore, once of good quality, now bore holes where the cloth had burned away, while patches of sooty black stood out along the rest of the fabric. Where those holes were revealed patches of skin, and what skin she could see appeared red and raw and angry. The healer in her wanted to whisk him away immediately to be seen to, but the wife and mother in her remained unmoved, stuck in a state of stupor, terror breaking through in thin veins.  
  
“Say... Say that again,” she demanded, her voice breaking. Her mind had difficulty forming coherent thoughts and those thoughts nearly refused to translate into words. She could see the pity in the man's eyes as he did as she ordered.  
  
Fire. A fire had burned down an inn, the same one that Lord Jakob Griffin and Clarke Griffin had been staying at. As they slept the fire had started, and soon the entire building was engulfed in flames. According to the man-at-arms he'd only made it out because he'd been with the horses in the stables, and as it was he'd barely managed to escape with his life. No occupants inside had been able to get out. He'd heard their screams, but there was nothing he could do to save them.  
  
News of the fire traveled nearly as fast as those flames had in the Arkadian Hills, and soon everyone, from nobles to the poorest street urchin, had heard: Lord Griffin was dead, and so was his eldest daughter. The lesser lords and their families mourned, Lord Griffin having been loved by them all, and even the commoners cried out for the loss. A change in noble rank seldom meant anything good, and the old lord had been kind to them. With a woman who'd only married into the Griffin family in charge, what would this mean for them?  
  
For days Abby locked herself away in her room, her only company her only remaining child. Madelaine – nicknamed Madi by her sister before she could even remember – clutched her mother as the older woman held her close, her grip so tight the little girl could barely catch her breath. More than once she asked her mother when her father and sister would be home, and each time Abby's grip around her only seemed to tighten more. The six-year-old-and-sudden-heir didn't understand, just wanted her sister, and began crying when her mother tried to explain Clarke wouldn't be back.  
  
Arkadia mourned, and in one small room mother and daughter wept, everything about their lives suddenly changed forever.  
  


***

_Seven Years Later_

Queen Alexandria Woods stopped herself just in time from shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It wouldn't do for any of the dozens of people in the room to know of her boredom, so she instead mentally checked her posture, straightening her spine a hair and letting her shoulders set back. The movements were slight, almost minuscule, but she knew they would help her portray the image of royal interest, even if she was entirely _un_ interested in the party going on around her. Unfortunately for her, she had about three months of them to get through, and this was only the second. She knew it was a small price to pay for a war won, but at the moment she felt she'd rather be knee-deep in mud on the battle field than dressed in silk and surrounded by all the pomp of a royal celebration.  
  
For four years her people had been at war with the Reapers, the monstrous neighbors far to the south that had killed her father and made her queen at only eleven. For years before that she had fought an entirely different kind of war, trying to unite the thirteen major houses into one solid nation of people, what was now known as the Kongeda Nation. The next three months would be the first true opportunity the thirteen Lords and Ladies and lesser nobility had to come together in peace and truly establish their reconciled nation together. It was a much needed opportunity but one the queen dreaded.  
  
The queen – called Lexa only by the few people she would consider friends – scanned the crowd and internally winced when she caught Titus, her adviser and the man who had practically raised her since her father's death, glancing quickly over the crowded room despite the fact he himself never moved. Though for most this time would be used to steady themselves and come together after a war that had drained them all, Lexa knew Titus had other plans, ones that didn't involve any kind of resting and entirely revolved around the queen.  
  
For years now the adviser had been on her to find a husband, the need to birth an heir and ensure her legacy a top priority of his. As a child queen Lexa fully understood better than most what a country without an heir faced, but she had neglected that one duty, putting it off for as long as she could. Uniting Kongeda had been too important, she'd argued with him at seventeen, to risk it by choosing a husband from only one noble family. Three years later her united nation had been formed which meant she'd finally had the army to fight the Reapers, arguing whenever Titus brought up the subject of marriage and babies that her brother Aden was the heir and that was enough until their enemy was beat. Now the monsters had all but been defeated, only small skirmishes still taking place where Lexa's army had beaten them back and into hiding, and she no longer had any good excuses to put off the subject of marriage. Titus certainly wouldn't listen to how the idea of getting into bed with a man made her skin crawl any time she thought of it, and that's all she had now. As she'd been taught, she would do her duty, find a husband, and secure her line.  
  
Surely though she didn't have to choose that man tonight.  
  
“Bored Your Majesty?” she heard a voice murmur quietly behind her, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitch up into the barest hint of a smile. She would know that voice anywhere and therefore didn't have to turn to know who spoke.  
  
“Not nearly as bored as I'm sure you are,” she replied, keeping her voice down low so only her companion could hear her. It wouldn't do for any of her guests to overhear, but luckily somehow a pocket of space had developed around her momentarily, everyone apparently too occupied by food, dancing, or any of the dozens of others in the room to hang off the queen's shoulders. Moments like these were rare and she treasured them.  
  
Glancing over her shoulder she caught Anya hiding a grin behind her goblet before taking a sip. Unlike the rest of the room the head of her own personal guard drank water; Lexa knew Anya never had more than a single glass of wine at any occasion, and never any when she was on duty. Technically tonight she wasn't, had been invited to the party as the queen's personal guest and a lesser noble in her own right, but Lexa knew Anya still considered it her job to keep the queen safe. Even though the Captain of the Guards had strategically placed Guardsmen throughout the room Anya wore her sword at her waist and her eyes constantly scanned for any signs of trouble. Lexa's safety had been drilled into the older woman since they were young and would always be of the utmost importance to her. At times it had irked the queen, knowing she was always watched when she knew she could take care of herself, but at the same time she understood; with Aden as the only possible heir her life must be protected at all times. If she died the country she had just managed to unite would fall apart, and the results would be a bloodbath as those who believed they could rule fought for the throne. If somebody had to be protecting her at all times, she was at least glad it was her only true friend.  
  
“At least I don't have to kiss the feet of everyone in this room,” Anya told her easily. “All I have to do is stand here and watch you do it.”  
  
To anyone else her words had no affect on the queen, no noticeable change in her expression taking place, but Anya knew her well enough to see the slightest shift of her brow and hid another grin behind her goblet.  
  
“I will not be kissing anyone's feet,” Lexa argued, her tone even though she knew Anya could hear the resentment that laced itself through the words. The smug look remained on her guard's face and she almost rolled her eyes. She didn't of course, but she wanted to.  
  
“Of course you will,” Anya replied, looking nonchalantly around the room as though they might be discussing something as trivial as the weather. “All these pretty lords and ladies will kiss your feet and you'll kiss theirs right back. It's the way of your world, Your Majesty.”  
  
Lexa ticked an eyebrow up, her expression also one of casual interest. At that moment a servant walked over to her, bowing his head respectfully to the queen and holding out a tray of crystal glasses to her. She accepted one of the goblets with a nod and then took a sip from it, the sweet wine a much needed relief. Looking over the rim of the glass to her friend, she asked mildly, “And when will you be kissing my feet, Lady Anya?” The question was a pointed reminder that though she often tried to forget it, Anya herself was one of the pretty lords and ladies in the room.  
  
The remark worked exactly as Lexa had known it would and Anya scowled, not even trying to cover the look up. “I will happily knock you off your feet in the training yard, but you know I'll never be kissing them,” she growled and Lexa's face lit up at the challenge. She loved a good fight more than just about anything, and Anya was one of the few opponents who wouldn't hold back just because of her title. “Tomorrow then,” she agreed with a slight nod, matching the grin that slowly tugged at her guard's expression. “We'll see who knocks who off their feet.” Glancing past Anya she caught Titus watching her and winced, all too familiar with the look he was giving her. “For now though, I have feet to kiss.”  
  
Anya's grin grew again and she held up her goblet in a mock salute. “Good luck, Your Majesty. Hopefully everyone washed thoroughly before coming tonight.” Lexa's nose scrunched up at the image Anya had given her and her guard let out a quiet chuckle, and then the queen pulled herself away, her expression immediately even once again as she turned to the rest of the room. Spotting a group from the Ingrona Plains standing nearby she moved over to them, nodding as they all bowed to their queen.  
  
For hours Lexa circled the room, making sure to talk to everyone present. As the time ticked by more people seemed to appear, but she knew the dozens now would only grow as the spring turned to summer. Currently only seven of the great houses were represented, those who didn't have as far to travel or who had come back to the capitol with the queen at the end of the war rather than go back to their fiefs. The rest would trickle in slowly she knew, so that by mid-to-late summer each house would be accounted for. By then Titus would expect her to choose a husband and likely by the start of fall she would be married. In a year she would be fat with an heir growing inside her; the thought made a shiver crawl up her spine and she doubled down on her efforts of speaking with the lords and ladies around her just so she could try to forget it.  
  
The queen danced with lords and ladies alike, the soft music coming from the strings of the musicians she'd hired for the night wafting gently over the crowd. Others she simply spoke with, covering topics all the way from the recent war to the different types of agriculture the thirteen houses provided for their nation. To sons and a few daughters she spoke of knight's training, some still in their squire years and others newly-made knights. Though she had never gone through the training herself she'd experienced pieces of it and learned far more of it from Anya, enough that she could easily speak to it with those who had. With many of the lords and ladies she mourned the loss of their children, young men and women who had fought in her war and lost their lives. It was really only in those moments she gave her undivided attention, a chord of guilt striking inside her as mothers did their best not to weep and fathers held their shoulders back proudly: their children had died in her fight, her war, and she knew she would continue to mourn the losses for the rest of her life.  
  
She was speaking with General Semet and his wife, lower nobility of the Trikru Forest and a hero who had nearly lost his leg in the final major battle of the war when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Anya was standing with Indra, the Captain of the Guard, a few feet away and both seemed to be preoccupied with something. Lexa didn't like the scowl she could read on Indra's face or the curiosity on Anya's, so politely she excused herself from her company and made her way over to them.  
  
“What is it?” she asked quietly, looking between the two women. A sense of trouble stirred in her gut, and she almost reached down to her hip where a sword would have been were she not in the middle of a great party. Looking down she noticed that neither of the two women had grasped for their swords so she knew whatever it was couldn't be that threatening, but even so the feeling in her gut churned, making her wish she hadn't just finished a third cup of wine.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Indra said without looking at her, head dipping in a clipped nod. Like Anya she was a trusted friend, or at least friend-like, so Lexa never expected her to show the same level of respect that most others did. To an extent it was always a relief being around Indra, as her gruff respect was easier to deal with than the people who would throw themselves at her feet, always expecting something in return.  
  
“Over there,” Anya told her, nodding to a corner of the room and answering the queen's question. “The woman with Sir Finn; do you recognize her?”  
  
Lexa followed their gazes, finding a small group of young people clustered together by one of the food tables. Her eyes trailed over the group, identifying each of them including her younger brother. Aden, like the others in the group, appeared to be smitten with the young woman speaking if his wide smile was anything to go by. Internally she rolled her eyes at her brother, wondering just how many young women he would fall in love with over the next few months, and then turned her focus on the center of the group.  
  
The woman who had captured her audience's attention so completely stood angled in a way that made it hard for the queen to get a good look at her face, but every now and then she would turn just enough for Lexa to get a peak. The dress she wore was a deep rusty red made out of fabric a few steps below the fine silk of the queen's own dark green gown, but somehow the way she wore it made it seem like the finest material money could buy. Her hair, piled in loose ringlets along her head, was a shade of red the queen wasn't sure she'd ever seen before, the burgundy locks so dark Lexa's fingers itched to run through them to see if they might get lost in it. Her pale skin told the queen she was from the north and that she didn't spend much time in the sun, meaning she was likely a lesser noblewoman who spent most of her time inside her castle's walls. She had to be from a lesser house, because much to the queen's astonishment, she didn't recognize her.  
  
“No,” she answered, knowing her companions would be able to hear the surprise in her voice. “I don't know who she is.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Indra growled, clearly vexed. As the Captain of the Guard, Lexa knew Indra always made it her mission to know every single person who entered the palace, and the fact that this young woman had somehow slipped by her would likely chafe against her pride for some time. Lexa understood how that felt, her own pride rubbed a bit raw by this unknown noblewoman as well. As the queen and host of this party, she had been certain she knew the face and name of every person who would be attending but here this mystery woman was. From the way Sir Finn's hand rested along the small of her back she assumed the two must be betrothed and that just irked her more. As far as she had known the third son of Lord Emerys Collins of the Glowing Forest had been single with no prospective brides. Luckily for her being the third son meant he wasn't on Titus's list of potential husbands, but that she had no knowledge of the girl's name or this union was a slap to her pride.  
  
“Excuse me,” she told the two guards politely before making her way over to the small cluster of nobles. Her eyes didn't leave the mystery woman, taking in even more detail the closer she got. Her brother was now talking, apparently telling some joke, because as she drew closer she heard the woman let out a small laugh, the sound light and almost musical and tugging at something inside Lexa's chest. With her back still to the queen Lexa studied her, wondering just who this woman could be.  
  
Her brother was the first to notice her, eyes glancing over the woman's shoulder, and he bowed his head to her just slightly. The motion caused those beside him to look as well, and quickly they fell into deep bows, knowing exactly how they were expected to greet the queen. Their friends who had had their back to her as she approached turned around and also fell into quick bows, but Lexa ignored all of them and watched as the mystery woman finally turned to face her.  
  
A spark of immediate recognition lit in the woman's blue eyes, and as she bowed Lexa was reminded of the crystal blue water of a shimmering lake. A beauty mark perched itself just over the left side of her lips, drawing the queen's eyes to a full mouth bare of the lip paint many noblewomen wore. A light touch of rouge looked to have been dusted along the woman's cheeks, that or the woman had had one glass too many of wine. A thin silver chain with a blue pendant hung from her neck, and Lexa's eyes followed it as she knew they were supposed to. The cut of her dress bordered on impropriety, showing off enough of her bosom that Lexa wasn't surprised her audience had been so captivated, but for her part she only allowed her gaze to drop down to the revealed skin for a fraction of a second despite the urge to just stare at the wonder. One hand grasped at the skirt of her dress as she fell into a deep curtsy while the other held onto the goblet she'd been drinking from and the queen's gaze fell to them, noting the lack of rings on any of her long fingers. The loose ringlets of hair swayed as she moved, a few falling over her shoulders, and internally the queen knew this must be the most beautiful woman she'd ever met.  
  
She didn't let that knowledge show on her face, instead giving the group a polite nod of her own as she tore her focus from the woman and made herself look at the companions around her.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Finn said, rising from his bow a second before the others did. Other than Aden, he was the highest ranking person of their group. Gesturing around the room with the hand that had been on the woman's back he added, “This is an excellent party you've thrown.” Quickly those around him nodded their agreement, everyone but Aden and the strange woman. She simply watched the queen and Lexa had the strange sensation of being sized up. It wasn't a feeling she was used to.  
  
“I'm glad to know you're all enjoying yourselves,” she replied politely as was expected, ignoring the strangeness of the woman's look. Turning her focus back to her, she met those blue eyes easily, giving the woman an apologetic smile. “I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm afraid I don't recognize you, Lady...”  
  
“Blake,” the woman replied, returning Lexa's smile, and the queen didn't know if it was the smile or the woman's voice that made her heart suddenly skip a beat. “Clarke Blake, and please Your Majesty, I'm no great lady.”  
  
That bit of information piqued an interest Lexa was trying to pretend she didn't have, wondering how Lord Emerys had allowed his son to become betrothed to a woman not of their rank, but she stuck that bit of curiosity away to go over another time. Instead she heard the band begin a new song and held out her hand to this mystery woman – to Clarke.  
  
“Mistress Blake, could I interest you in a dance?” she asked, giving the woman the polite, charming smile she'd learned to carry practically at birth. “I'm still ashamed to not know a guest at my own party.”  
  
Focused so fully on Clarke, she missed the smug grin that appeared on her brother's face or the way their other companions glanced back and forth at each other.  
  
Clarke curtsied a second time, reaching out and accepting the offered hand. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”  
  
Lexa led her across the room, the two setting their cups on a server's tray as they walked by. Everyone they approached quickly shifted out of their way, leaving an open path to the dance floor. As Lexa pulled her into her arms, the two easily falling into the dance's steps, she ignored the fact that everyone else was likely stealing glances at the pair if not openly staring. For her part Clarke ignored it too, and that impressed the queen; it had taken her years to get past the staring, but this woman who likely wasn't used to it at all seemed so easily to pretend no one else was around.  
  
“So Mistress Blake, tell me a little about yourself,” Lexa began as they fell into the steps, her eyes never leaving her dance partner's face. She took in every detail from the quirk of her lips to the spark in her eyes, storing the information away. This close she could see the thin white line of an old scar peaking out at her from the woman's hair line just above her left temple and briefly she wondered how she got it. Probably a silly accident from when she was a child, an overzealous act attempted by a brazen girl; she certainly had the look of someone constantly challenging the universe. Lexa's thumb itched to brush over it but instead she held firm to her hand, the appropriate touch for the moment.  
  
“Mistress Blake is too formal for me,” the other woman told her, flashing her a small smile. “I'm just Clarke.” Stepping away and then back to each other as the dance dictated, she asked, “What would Your Majesty like to know?”  
  
“What does your family do?” the queen asked, the palms of her hands tingling where the heat from Clarke's body hit them. She ignored it.  
  
“My father was a merchant in Arkadia,” Clarke answered. “After he died I came to Polis.”  
  
Regret flashed across Lexa's expression before she could stop it. She understood the pain that came with a family member's death and immediately felt guilty for reminding this young woman of her loss.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she told her quietly, hoping for once that her true emotions showed. Normally she forced them back, hid them from the world, but in this moment she wanted the other woman to know how true her words were. Clarke simply nodded, saying nothing before she glanced around the room. Clearly changing the subject she said, “You really have put together quite the party, Your Majesty. The food alone is exquisite; I like that you have something from each of the thirteen nations instead of just what's most popular in Polis.”  
  
_That_ surprised Lexa, and for a moment her brow rose, showing it. As a merchant's daughter, she wouldn't have expected Clarke to know that the food she served tonight came from all across Kongeda, a gesture she'd made as another symbol of how they had all come together. Hiding that momentary shock of surprise, she looked at this woman again, really looked at her, and found an intelligence in her eyes she hadn't expected. Worse, one of Clarke's eyebrows rose, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Lexa realized she'd been caught. Cheeks heating up momentarily from embarrassment, Lexa silently thanked the gods her complexion didn't allow the blush to show easily, and then dipped her head in a silent apology.  
  
“How do you know about the cuisine of the different nations?” she wanted to know, now more curious about this woman than she had been a moment ago. Before her interest had been simply due to the fact she was a stranger, someone she couldn't name on sight, and – she could silently admit to herself – in her beauty. Now her interest grew further, curious to know more about this mystery woman who seemed to be able to surprise her so easily.  
  
“I traveled for a year or so before coming to Polis,” was Clarke's easy answer. “I admit, I didn't make it to every nation, but enough of them to recognize the variety in the food tonight.”  
  
“Really? And which was your favorite place to visit?” Lexa asked, genuinely curious. As she'd been trying to unite the thirteen houses she'd had to travel to each one, seeing more of the land than she'd ever been able to imagine before.  
  
Clarke's lips curled up into a cheeky smile as Lexa spun her lightly, the two never missing a step in their dance despite their conversation. “I feel like I should say nothing could ever be more beautiful than Trikru since this is your home, but I don't think I can do that.” The cheeky grin slipped away as she seemed to really think about it and then she continued more thoughtfully, “After growing up with trees everywhere I looked, there was something very... intense about seeing the Ingrona Plains. It makes you feel small, you know, just being able to stare at that bare expanse and feel like you can see to the end of the earth.” Her cheeks darkened for a moment, apparently thinking about what she'd just said, and she bowed her head slightly. “Not that you could ever seem small, Your Majesty.”  
  
“No, I know what you mean,” Lexa assured her, gripping the woman's hand a little tighter to reassure her. “I admit I felt the same way when I stared across the same view.”  
  
Their conversation continued as one song flowed into another, and Lexa found herself forgetting about the party around them, at least as much as was possible for the queen. What she'd believed would just be a simple dance so she could identify this woman and mentally box her away as she did everyone else turned into a conversation about different lands and foods and cultures. As they talked she found she genuinely cared what Clarke had to say, even when they argued over what the best way was to prepare snake, a delicacy among the people of the Glowing Forest. Clarke argued the stew it was often made into was best, while Lexa insisted there was no better way to eat it than freshly roasted over the fire.  
  
“So is that how you met Sir Finn?” Lexa asked, once they had agreed to disagree. For the first time since they started dancing she made herself look away from her partner's face and back to the party around them, finding the young nobleman in question watching them, her brother beside him and grinning smugly. _Odd_ , she thought, having expected him to seem more jealous than smug, but didn't think anything more of it as she returned her focus to her companion. “How long have you two been engaged?”  
  
Confusion swept across the other woman's face, her head tilting to the side. “Who told you we were engaged?”  
  
“I just assumed,” she answered, “from the way he was holding you earlier.” Something mischievous flashed across Clarke's face, her lips creeping up into a slow grin, and suddenly the queen felt as though she'd just said something very foolish.  
  
“Sir Finn and I aren't engaged,” Clarke informed her, amusement coloring her tone. “We only recently met and are just... friendly with each other.”  
  
“Oh,” the queen replied dumbly, embarrassed. Glancing back over at Finn she felt anger briefly boil over in her gut before she could quickly tamper it back down. She knew many noblemen would meet a commoner and play with her emotions before leaving her behind, especially when the commoner was as pretty as Clarke. These men would have their fun and then do their duty by their family and marry someone of their rank, leaving the common girl behind brokenhearted, and the idea that Finn might be playing with Clarke in such a way stirred something within her. Never before had she truly cared other than to shake her head at people's foolishness, but now she found herself saying, “I hope Sir Finn treats you well. As the son of a lord, I'm sure he must seem... important.”  
  
“Not as important as the queen,” Clarke replied smoothly as she dipped into another curtsy, the song they were dancing to ending. Despite the way her body moved she maintained eye contact with Lexa, once again surprising the queen, and she thought she saw another flash of something cross those intelligent eyes. “You don't need to worry about me, Your Majesty, I've been taking care of myself for a long time. It might even be Sir Finn who should be careful around me.” Lexa noticed a teasing lilt to the woman's smile and internally thought she might be right: Clarke certainly seemed like someone who could take care of herself. Something about the intensity of her gaze reminded the queen of the lioness she'd once encountered while visiting the Hundred Mile Desert, the same awe and fear sparking in her now as it had then. As quick as it appeared the flash was gone and finally Clarke's head dipped down, adding, “Though if you'll excuse me Your Majesty, I really should be getting back to him.”  
  
Not letting any of her thoughts show, Lexa returned the curtsy with a nod of her head, returning the motion with the barest of bows as was expected. “Of course,” she replied, “I've taken up enough of your time. It was nice to meet you, Clarke Blake.”  
  
“It was an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Clarke told her sincerely, giving her another small smile, and then she had turned and was walking away. She made her way back over to Finn, the young man's expression immediately lighting up as he extended his arm to her. She took it and the two made their way back to their corner, and Lexa pretended not to notice or care that his hand moved back to the small of her back the moment they'd stopped.  
  
Walking off the dance floor and about to find another conversation to include herself in, her plans changed when she noticed Anya and Indra watching her, a large smirk on Anya's face and – more surprising than anything else that had happened that night – a smaller smirk on Indra's. Frowning, she made her way over to them, Anya's amusement only seeming to grow the closer she got until the queen was practically glaring at her.  
  
“What?” she all but demanded once they were in front of her, and only years of training kept her from placing her hands on her hips in annoyance.  
  
“Did you have a nice dance, Your Majesty?” Anya asked smoothly, ignoring Lexa's question and just irking the queen more. “You looked like you were having fun.”  
  
Still not understanding their looks, she answered, “It was perfectly fine.” As a second thought, she told them, “Her name is Clarke, by the way. Clarke Blake.”  
  
“So we've heard,” Indra replied, that one corner of her mouth still pulled up in a small smirk that made Lexa's brow furrow. She could not for the life of her figure out what was going on, and for the second time that night she felt like she had done something stupid. It was not a feeling she cared for in the slightest.  
  
Just then Aden moved over to them, a similar smirk tugging at his lips. “So Lexa, did you have fun with Clarke?”  
  
Looking between the three of them, Lexa had to close her eyes and take a deep breath, getting her irritation under control. She wasn't used to being the butt of some unknown joke and she certainly didn't like it. “Okay, what is going on?” she demanded, using the tone that had commanded an army and united thirteen strong houses.  
  
“Please let me tell her,” Aden said to Indra and Anya, practically dancing where he stood in excitement. Only being the heir to the throne kept him from actually doing so, his own title keeping him from acting the part of a normal fourteen-year-old boy with a secret.  
  
“Do it,” Anya agreed with a sharp nod, one that Indra mirrored, and Lexa fought to keep herself from rolling her eyes at them all. Turning to her brother she lifted her eyebrows expectantly, waiting to be brought in on the joke, and he told her absolutely gleefully, “You just danced with a whore.”  
  
Blood rushed to her ears, making them pound and she was sure she must have misheard him.  
  
“Excuse me?” she said, and he nodded over to the corner where Finn and his mystery woman still stood, telling her, “Clarke. She's a whore. You just danced with a whore.”  
  
The bottom dropped out of Lexa's stomach and her eyes closed slowly, for the first time in her life wishing she could entirely disappear from sight. Behind her, she could practically feel the force of Titus's eyes boring into the back of her head.

***

Clarke Griffin, one-time heir to her dead father's title, laid silently in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling above her as the remaining firelight in the hearth across the room danced along the walls.  
  
Beside her the third son of Lord Emerys of the Glowing Forest slept, one arm wrapped possessively around her middle. A thin sheet had been pulled over their naked bodies when Finn had finished and he'd immediately curled against her, claiming her in yet another way. While he'd fallen asleep quickly, no doubt worn out by the night's activities, Clarke remained awake, her mind ticking away as it always did. Her fingers fiddled with the pendant of her necklace, the only thing she still wore and one of the few things she'd brought from one life to the next, and she planned. She could feel something in the air, something not yet attainable but nevertheless drawing nearer and she knew the time was coming. For years now she'd worked for this, worked for the revenge she felt slowly creeping towards her like a scared animal, and once it was within reach she would have it. First she would have her answers, and then she would have her revenge and everything she'd done to obtain it would be worth it.  
  
In a dark room filled with only flickering firelight, a noblewoman who had donned the life of a whore lay still, waiting for her revenge to find her.  
  
It was only a matter of time now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been reading any of my other work, you might be asking yourself right now, "WHY IS SHE STARTING SOMETHING NEW WHEN SHE DOESN'T EVEN UPDATE HER OTHER TWO STORIES CONSISTENTLY?!" Totally valid question, and one I've yelled at myself a few times already. The answer is that I've had this idea stuck in my head for months now, and I'm pretty sure it's one of the things that has kept me from updating my other two stories consistently. I decided I need to get it out of my head, so here it is!
> 
> It is my intention to update this story twice a week, on Wednesday and Sunday evenings. I've already got probably a third of it written, so I feel like I can safely stick to that promise, but if I start catching up to myself I might dial it back to updating just once a week. If that happens though, I'll make sure to give you a warning. 
> 
> To anyone who has been so incredibly patiently waiting for an update on "Continuum" or "Connections" please don't think I've given up on either of those stories! I most certainly haven't, and will absolutely be diving right back into them once I've finished with this one (I don't foresee this taking more than a month or two to finish, though as always my estimations may be off). Until then please continue to be patient with me, and I hope "The Whores' Queen" will be interesting enough to tide you over. Thank you all!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter deals with the aftermath of a sexual assault. There is very little detail about the assault itself, but to be safe I wanted to make sure to give everyone this warning. 
> 
> Also this is one of the very few chapters that doesn't have any Lexa in it. I think there's only one or two others that I've written so far with only Clarke or Lexa; the vast majority will have them both in one way or another.

Clarke could feel Finn's eyes on her as she slipped from his room, just as easily as she could still feel the force of the kiss he'd pressed against her lips before she made her exit. He'd tried to convince her to stay the morning, offering to buy her a breakfast like she'd never seen before, but she'd politely declined, flashing him the coy smile she'd learned to wear when she'd begun this whole charade. As always it worked to leave him speechless and she'd used the moment to pull on her gown, cinching it back up and covering the skin she knew his eyes were raking over before it could disappear. Before she could get any farther he'd pulled her back to him, holding her tight as he pressed the kiss to her mouth and she'd played her part by returning it with an easy grin. As she pulled back he reached over to the side table and grabbed the small bag of coins sitting on top, dropping it into her hand and telling her they would have to do this again sometime. She just gave him another coy smile and left, knowing without a doubt they would: Finn had the look of a love-struck boy, the same look she'd seen on dozens of faces over the years, and that look always told her she had a new repeat customer on her hands.  
  
Quietly she made her way down the inn's hall, careful not to draw attention to herself. Despite the fact that most guests at any inn often procured company for the night, few innkeepers wanted it known that whores roamed their halls, especially the finer inns like the Fireside Bunker. Many inns even had agreements in place with different whorehouses, specifically providing their guests with nightly entertainment, but each of them had sets of secret stairways or hidden rooms so that they could sneak the whores to and from their guests without anyone being the wiser. Clarke had become intimately familiar with the secret passages in all of the local inns and made her way to the back stairwell of the Bunker now, no guest or worker seeing her slip away.  
  
Opening the door located at the back of the inn behind the stables, Clarke was unsurprised to find someone waiting for her and decided to lazily stretch her arms over her head as she flashed the man a smile.  
  
“Good morning Derrick,” she called as he made his way over to her. “I take it Luna sent you to walk me home?” The man grinned beneath his trimmed beard, telling her, “Of course. She didn't wanna leave you on your own dressed like that.” He nodded to her, his long dark hair pulled into a tight braid and swaying lightly with the movement, and she let out a sigh. Once again dressed in what she wore to the queen's party the night before, she knew she would practically be begging to be robbed and more if she tried to walk the streets alone dressed like this. Of course, by now many of the people in the city had learned she wasn't someone easily messed with, but there were still plenty of others that would need to learn that lesson the hard way before she could be fully confident walking on her own with her chest practically spilling out of her dress. It was easier and would save time with Derrick to escort her, the curved sword strapped to his back an obvious indication he should not be messed with. Seeing no reason to argue she just gave him another smile and then began walking towards the street, the man falling into step beside her.  
  
“So was it a good night?” he asked, trying to strike up a conversation. There were others she knew who would be probing for the dirtier details of her night, but coming from him she knew it was an honest question that had nothing to do with the requirements her job demanded of her.  
  
“It was,” she answered, looking forward and not at him as they made their way down the street. “The palace is beautiful, and the party was certainly interesting.” The queen had been the most interesting thing of all, but she kept that piece of information to herself.  
  
Beside her Derrick snorted, the sound making her glance over at him. “Yeah I bet. Wouldn't trade places with you though; way too many nobles for my liking.”  
  
“Nobles aren't so bad,” she replied with a shrug, “you just have to know how to talk to them. As long as they think you think they hung the stars it's actually pretty easy.” He let out a chuckle but shook his head, his opinion clearly not changing.  
  
The two walked the mile and a half hike through the city, getting out of the way when horses and wagons went by and peering every now and then at some of the stands they passed. A number of the people out and about in the early morning recognized Clarke either from passing or from a night or more with her, and even more people whistled as she walked by. After six years of much of the same she was used to it and winked or whistled back at the ones she knew and shot smiles to those she didn't. Derrick stayed beside her every step of the way, glaring harshly whenever anyone thought to get too close, and the sight of his bulging arms sent them scurrying on their way. Clarke thought it was sweet of him to care enough to scare them off for her, but the weight of the concealed knife she always carried pulled down at the side of her dress. It hadn't always been a part of her charade, but after a time where she'd wished she'd had it and didn't she'd sewn hidden pockets into every one of her gowns, no matter how little fabric was available. She had quickly decided she'd rather a companion find her with it and get angry than get angry and her not have it. As it was it had saved her no less than four times and she had no doubt it would end up saving her again in the future.  
  
Finally up ahead of them was The Rig, one of the town's most well-known whorehouses and Clarke's home. Unlike most whorehouses, The Rig was not just known for its workers but also its mistress. Luna Flou was unlike any other whorehouse master in that she actually cared for the men and women she employed; it was one of the reasons Clarke had ended up here.  
  
Reaching the house's entrance, Clarke saw two people sitting on the bench outside the door, stretching out in the warm morning sun. Waving to Derrick as he continued inside to let Luna know they were back, she stopped by them, looking over the two young women.  
  
Harper's light brown eyes lit up the moment she saw her, flashing Clarke a lazy grin but otherwise not moving from the bench. From the way she sat with her back leaning against the stone of the building, Clarke guessed she'd only recently woken up. She wore a sheer maroon gown that could easily be seen through and nothing beneath it. Her dark blonde hair had been wrapped into a braid that started on one side of her head and then was pinned up and trailed over to the other side, the end of the braid hanging over the opposite shoulder. Her companion's hair was a shade lighter, her eyes an almost honeyed brown. Niylah looked up at Clarke through her long lashes, undoubtedly reading things the young woman would rather remain hidden. She had a feeling that of all her friends at The Rig, Niylah had guessed the most about her, and that often concerned her. Right now though the other whore just looked at her and Clarke looked back, finding nothing that worried her in her expression. The second blonde's hair had a number of tiny braids tangled throughout it, the rest falling over her shoulders, and where Harper wore a gown instead she wore a tan band across her breasts and a matching thin skirt that draped to the ground. After being in the sun on and off over the past few days her skin held a light tan and a dark tattoo peaked out of the band of her skirt at her hip.  
  
“How was your night with the nobles?” Harper asked, amusement dancing along her tone. “How many fell in love with you on sight and offered to whisk you away from this horrible life?” Clarke returned her grin and then sat down heavily between them, playfully fanning herself with her hand.  
  
“I must be losing my touch,” she told them dramatically. “Not one of them asked for my hand or offered to put little lordlings in my belly to get me away from here.” Harper snorted and Niylah smiled, both of them shaking their heads.  
  
“What about the lord whose bed you stayed in last night?” Harper wanted to know, wiggling her eyebrows “Surely he fell in love with you.” Clarke thought about the look Finn had given her before she'd slipped from his room, how he'd tried to get her to stay longer, but shook her head. “Only a fool falls in love with a whore, you know that.”  
  
“There are many fools in the world, Clarke,” Niylah reminded her wisely, a teasing glint in her eye. “And I bet it's the same for nobles as it is for commoners.” Clarke had nothing to say to that and didn't even try to come up with anything, instead choosing to change the subject. “What about the two of you? Did anyone fall in love with either of you overnight?”  
  
“My cunt maybe, but not me,” Harper answered with a scoff. “I had a baker who tried to pound me as thoroughly as he works his bread. He must be better with the dough than he was with me or I'd wonder how he got the coin to pay for it.” Clarke let out a snort, not at all surprised, and then turned to Niylah as she said, “Mistress Tover once again decided to use me to make up for her husband's failings. She isn't in love with me, just frustrated with his small cock. Apparently my fingers make up for it.”  
  
“They are very talented fingers,” Clarke joked, giving the other woman a knowing smile and Niylah returned it with one of her own. The two had been known to fall into each other's bed at times, using the other to let out their frustrations of the day or to tether themselves to something good in this shitty reality they lived in. Clarke knew it was a mistake, could see the way Niylah looked at her in those moments and felt her eyes following her sometimes outside of them, but still she couldn't quite stop herself whenever she found the other woman naked beside her. Even now she felt the guilt stir lazily in her gut at the way Niylah looked at her from beneath her eyelashes and regretted her joke. Trying to ignore the feeling she looked around them, asking, “Where are the others? All working?”  
  
Though The Rig housed dozens of people, Clarke really only considered herself friends with five of them, and Niylah and Harper were two of their gang. When the six weren't working they often spent their time together, a lot of that time around this very bench.  
  
“Jasper's entertaining,” Harper answered, the easiest way of saying someone was with a guest. “Some new guy, probably a servant from one of the noble families. Sounds like he's got the coin for it at least.” A shadow flashed across her face and she traded looks with Niylah before she admitted hesitantly, “And Monty's with Maya and Luna.”  
  
Maya and Monty were both workers as well, and typically the idea of two being together just meant that a guest had enough money to pay for more than one partner at once, but the fact that Luna was with them immediately caught Clarke's attention. She looked between her two friends, now noticing the even expression Niylah clearly forced and the way Harper grit her jaw, and felt what had been guilt turn to fear in her gut. “What happened?” she demanded, all joking and pretenses slipping away. They looked at each other again and then Niylah sighed, shaking her head. “He was with Dax again last night. It didn't go well.”  
  
“Maya says it isn't too bad,” Harper tried to get in, but Clarke was up and pushing her way through the door before she'd even finished speaking.  
  
The Rig was a four story building with multiple rooms on every floor. Those on the first floor were mostly open, large lounges and chairs set out with plush rugs covering the floor. There were two private rooms on the first floor, but Clarke didn't go to any of them, instead hurrying towards the staircase at the back of the house. As she went she passed people fucking in the open, those who couldn't afford private rooms having to take their enjoyment out where anyone who walked past could see. The openness had never seemed to stop them, and as Clarke went she heard loud moans, clearly exaggerated by the workers and entirely real by the men and few women who were paying for them. Up on the second floor there was only one open room, this space also occupied by more than one couple coupling, though as the day wore on Clarke knew it would get much fuller. The rest of the floor was made up of rooms, a few specifically for paying guests and the others the living quarters for some of the workers. The third and fourth floor were all living quarters, and it was the third floor she went to, making her way down the hall and forcefully pushing her way into Luna's own room. If something had happened and Monty had been hurt, she knew this is where he'd be.  
  
She was right. Monty sat on Luna's bed across from the doorway, wincing as Maya pressed a poultice to the skin around his eye. Her father had been a trained healer and Maya had picked up on some of his tricks before he'd kicked her out of his house, making her indispensable at The Rig. The only person who knew more about healing was Clarke herself, which is why she found herself hurrying over to the bed, completely ignoring Luna and Derrick standing on the other side.  
  
“What happened?” she snapped, glaring up at Luna as she sank down beside Monty on the bed. Maya smiled thinly at her and then moved out of her way, giving her space to check their friend over. Gently she pressed her fingers to his chin, turning his face towards her to get a better look. He winced but tried to grin at her, apparently ignoring the split in his bottom lip. The area around his left eye Maya had dabbed with the poultice was an ugly purple, his brow swollen enough so Clarke knew he must be having a hard time seeing. Bruising around his neck told her he'd been choked, and the fact that he barely moved on the bed told her these weren't his only injuries.  
  
“It's not that bad, Clarke,” he tried to tell her, reaching out and patting her arm reassuringly, “I've had worse. Nothing's even broken.”  
  
“That doesn't make this okay, Monty,” she growled back at him, her heart breaking for her friend. It hadn't taken long after meeting him to realize no better person had ever existed, despite the absolute atrocity his life had been. He looked at everything with a positivity that Clarke envied, always ready with a smile to try to cheer up someone's day and nearly always saw the best in people, even after that person had beaten him to a bloody pulp. Glaring up at Luna, she growled, “I _told_ you not to send him back to Dax. I _told_ you!”  
  
Dax was a soldier in the queen's army, a young man who'd recently come back to Polis after fighting against the Reapers. This had been the third time he'd paid for Monty's services, and each time the boy came back bleeding in one way or another. After the second time Clarke had angrily demanded Luna not accept his money again and instead send him on his way, but apparently the order hadn't been followed. As the mistress of The Rig Luna didn't take orders from anyone, and as nothing more than a whore Clarke had known her orders wouldn't be followed, despite her history with the other woman. When it came to whorehouse masters Luna was one of the best, always trying to keep her people as safe as possible while working to also save others, but sometimes even she made mistakes. It was a truth Clarke knew and understood, but at this moment all she could care about was the fact her friend had been hurt and it could have been prevented.  
  
“I know what you said,” Luna snapped back, the usually patient older woman clearly out of that patience for the moment. “I thought making Dax come here instead of sending Monty to him would be enough. Clearly I was wrong. I won't make this mistake again.”  
  
Clarke opened her mouth to say something else and then snapped it shut, knowing now wasn't the time to lose control of her tongue. She could see how upset Luna was, could read the guilt that ate away at her, and knew nothing she could say would make it worse. In the meantime Monty looked more uncomfortable with their fighting than with his injuries, and he had to be the priority right then. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Clarke forced herself to forget about Luna and Dax and instead to only focus on Monty and his injuries.  
  
“Okay Monty, let me take a look at you,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice calm and soothing, the complete opposite from what it had been a minute before. Among her many lessons growing up as Clarke Griffin had been lessons in the art of healing, and now she tried to make sure to remember everything she'd learned about cuts and bruises. The poultice Maya had chosen was a good one for the bruising around his eye and she shot the other girl a smile of approval after looking at it. She used a cloth and bowl of water to gently wipe away the dried blood from his chin and then left to get a paste she kept in a small jar in her room to put on his lip. Once that was applied she used her fingers to press gently against his neck to make sure there was nothing worse than the bruising she could see there before also covering it with the poultice.  
  
Through all of it Monty didn't move, didn't even flinch, and the way he purposefully held himself still told Clarke there was more they had to take care of and the thought of it made white-hot rage erupt in her chest that she somehow managed to keep out of her expression. She knew the others in the room knew the same thing but didn't look at them, looked only at Monty as she asked quietly, “Monty, did he do anything else to you?”  
  
The boy bit his lip, wincing when he put pressure on the damaged skin, and looked away. He remained silent, not answering the question, and that silence was enough to tell her exactly what else had happened. Rage so strong it scared her coursed through Clarke's veins and she had to bite her cheek until it bled to keep herself from screaming.  
  
Despite their profession, despite what each of them did every day, none of them quite knew how to talk about it when a conversation had to turn to the horrors encountered far too often in their work. Out of the corner of her vision Clarke could see tears pooling in Maya's eyes but not falling as she held them back, and Derrick's fists clenched tightly at his side. Her own fury nearly boiled over despite the metallic blood she could taste from where she'd opened her cheek as she looked up at Luna, and she found a hardness in the other woman's face not often there, her rage barely hidden behind her eyes. “Dax will never be welcome here again,” she stated evenly, her voice catching that hardness. Looking at Derrick she told him, “If you ever see him so much as looking at The Rig, feel free to remove his head.” The big man nodded in agreement, likely pleased with that plan, but it didn't satisfy Clarke's fury. She wanted him to pay for what he had done now, not only if he ever came around again. She looked down at her hands on the bed beside her friend, her fingers curling up into tight fists and had to force herself to take a few deep breaths. For now she would accept it, too busy with her own plans of revenge to come up with any for Monty. Besides, knowing the younger boy he wouldn't want her to go looking for trouble just because of him. He looked perfectly relieved at just the idea that Dax wouldn't be allowed near him again, so for now Clarke would have to just let this go.  
  
“Can you all go and give us some privacy?” she asked, looking between the other three in the room. Monty didn't need extra eyes watching him for this next part. Ending on Luna, she told the woman, “Once we're done I'll help Monty back to his room so he can get some rest.”  
  
She nodded immediately, agreeing and telling him, “You won't be working for at least a few days. Take the time to heal.” He flashed a smile at her, wincing again as it pulled against his split lip, and then the three left the room, Maya pulling the door shut behind them.  
  
Clarke finished her examination as quickly and as gently as she could, doing her best to tend to his injuries but knowing time was really all that would heal him. Once done she helped him up from the bed and then walked him down the hallway to his room, thankful that at least he wouldn't need to climb any stairs. The one pro to living and working in a whorehouse was that at least they all had decently nice beds, a necessity since any one of them might entertain a guest in their own room if that guest paid well enough for it. She helped him get into his bed, looking him over one last time in case she missed something. Apparently she wasn't at all subtle because as she did he grinned up at her, tired but clearly amused.  
  
“I'm fine, Clarke,” he assured her once again. “Really, don't worry about me.”  
  
Deciding the best thing she could do for him now was to act positive, she returned the grin with one of her own, jokingly telling him, “Who's going to worry about you if I don't do it?”  
  
His grin broke into a wide yawn but didn't entirely disappear. “I know, you worry about all of us, it's just what you do. But you don't have to.”  
  
“You're my people,” she murmured, the words meaning more to her than he could ever know. Leaning over him slightly, she continued, “That makes it my responsibility to make sure you're safe.”  
  
He reached up, his hand wrapping around the back of her head and pulled her down until their foreheads were just barely touching. The motion felt good, reassuring, as did the smile he gave her. “You worry too much,” he teased, “but I admit, it's good to know you're always here for us.”  
  
“Of course I will be,” she told him, guilt washing quickly over her from the lie. “Where else would I go?” He grinned again, about to say something else when his door burst open, the force used making it bounce off the wall with a loud _bang_ as it swung back. They both jumped, Monty's grip releasing her as he winced from the sudden movement, and they turned to see their friend Jasper standing in the doorway.  
  
“I'll kill him,” he threatened, looking as angry as Clarke felt. He stormed into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and marched over to his best friend's bed. Monty had been the first person he'd met when he started working at The Rig and the two had become nearly inseparable ever since. Apparently he'd heard what had happened to his friend and gone straight to Monty's room. “I'll kill Dax if I ever see him again!”  
  
Glancing at Jasper out of the corner of her eye, Clarke doubted he would ever be able to kill anyone, especially a soldier like Dax. Still, she understood his fury and desire for revenge and couldn't fault him for it. Monty rolled his eyes, apparently sharing Clarke's thoughts and unafraid to give voice to them. “Dax would kill you 'fore you could get a single hit in.”  
  
“You don't know that,” Jasper said, his pride clearly wounded by his friend's lack of faith in him. “Maybe all this time I shoulda been a soldier and've been wasting my talents in this place.”  
  
Clarke snorted, looking at the skinny young man out of the corner of her eye. At the moment he wore no shirt, just a loose pair of breeches, and it was obvious to anyone who saw him he'd never done any kind of soldier's work before. His parents had grown vegetables in the west until a blight had killed all their crops, and with no income they'd quickly lost everything they had. They came to Polis to try to find work but before they could find any his parents had gotten sick and died. He'd lived on the streets for a couple of years before Luna took him in and after that he'd earned his living the same way they all did. Lying on his back hadn't produced the kind of muscles needed to fight a trained soldier.  
  
“The day you become a soldier will be the same day I become a nobleman,” Monty scoffed, rolling his eyes at his best friend. Jasper crossed his arms and looked away for a second, acting affronted, before shrugging and moving over to the bed. Casually dropping down to the mattress he looked over at Clarke, grinning as he said, “Then you can buy Clarke for the night when the queen has one of her fancy parties.” Fingers laced together, his arms went up and over his head until he could lean back and rest against the palm of his hands. “So what was it like, getting to play with a noble prick? Did he at least know where to put it?”  
  
“It took a little guiding, but it ended up in the right place,” she joked, making him laugh as Monty grinned. She shrugged then, adding, “I guess Finn was nice enough.”  
  
“What was the palace like?” Monty wanted to know, clearly far more interested in the party than the noble she'd spent the night in bed with. She thought for a second and then shrugged. “Big. The party was in this big ballroom with a polished granite floor and tapestries all over the walls. Musicians played on one side of the room so people could dance and there was more food available than we'd see in three months. There were dozens of people there and still plenty of space for more.” She paused for a second, watching the images she painted sink in for them, and then added, “I even got to talk with the prince for a little while.”  
  
She didn't mention dancing with the queen; for some reason she wanted to keep that to herself. It hadn't meant anything and it was obvious from their conversation she'd had no idea what Clarke was, but still something about those few minutes stuck with her and she had no desire to share them with anyone else.  
  
Jasper let out a low whisper, clearly impressed. “Maybe if you keep going back you'll make a good impression and he'll hire you for a night. How many whores can say they slept with the heir to the throne?”  
  
Clarke shook her head. “He's just a kid. Besides, I doubt the queen would let him. There are plenty of other nobles who can have me if they want me.”  
  
Monty let out a light laugh, telling her, “Everyone wants you, Clarke. I bet the nobles start fighting over who gets you for the next party.”  
  
Standing up she stretched, her back cracking in two places as she did so. “I doubt it. Probably I won't be hired by any of them again and that'll be my only party.” She knew even as she said it that wouldn't happen, Finn's love-struck expression flashing in her mind. It was exactly what she needed to happen for her plans to work, but nobody else needed to know how important these parties were to her; better to let everyone think she couldn't care less about them.  
  
“Sure Clarke,” Jasper replied with another roll of his eyes, “whatever you say.” She flashed him a grin and then waved half-heartedly as she turned towards the door. “I have to go change and get to work. Monty I mean it, take it easy, and Jasper let him rest.”  
  
“Yes Mother,” they chorused together, the nickname one their group often used on her. She just shot them another grin and then slipped out of the room, hearing them start talking about what the food must have been like at the party before she closed the door behind her. In the hall she shook her head and closed her eyes, leaning back against the door for a second. To them her stories would just be about food neither could even imagine and pretty nobles dressed up in their finest party clothes, but to her these next few months were about something entirely else. She needed Finn to take her back to as many as possible so she could continue moving her plans forward.  
  
Leaving the two boys behind she made her way up to the top floor and into her own room, closing the door behind her. The moment she was there she began working her way out of her dress, sighing in relief as it sank to the floor around her ankles. She'd forgotten how tight a proper noblewoman's dress was – not that what she'd been wearing was a proper noblewoman's dress, but it was the closest to it she'd worn in years. The one thing she could say about the gowns she wore as a whore was that they were far looser and more comfortable, even if that was solely so that men and women looking for a good time had a better idea of what they were paying for. Stepping out of the dress puddled at her feet she made her way over to the small closet at the side of her room and pulled out a light robe, its fabric far thinner. The one she chose was green and she felt her lips curl up as she realized the color was only a few shades lighter than the queen's eyes but then quickly banished the thought. Quickly she pulled the robe on, tying it closed around her waist and then pulled her hair free from the few ringlets still somehow holding their shape, shaking her head lightly to let them fall free. A few burgundy strands fell over her shoulders as the rest hung just past her shoulder blades and for a second she let her fingers thread through it, brushing through a few little tangles and thinking about just how different dark-haired Clarke Blake was from the light-haired Clarke Griffin. Now wasn't the time to get lost in thoughts though and she knew it so after just a few seconds she cleared her head and turned around, leaving her room to head back down to the first floor and begin a new day's work. Just like every morning and evening her first stop was to the kitchen to help herself to a quick cup of tea, the herbs used to make it ones that prevented pregnancy. All the female workers in the house had to drink it twice a day, and Clarke made absolutely sure never to miss a cup; the last thing she needed was someone's babe in her belly.  
  
All morning and for most of the afternoon she locked everything away, spending her time mindlessly smiling and kissing and fucking. It was a routine Luna had taught her years ago and by now it was all old hat, everything more of a motion than a thought. Men and women came and went and she entertained many of them, always giving them their money's worth while barely paying any attention to what she was doing. Sex barely meant anything to her by now, was nothing more than a series of movements and words that meant the same thing to every person she whispered them to. Her words would boost her partner's confidence or ego or whatever needed boosting but anything they said back was almost completely tuned out. It was all just a matter of autopilot for her and that's the way she liked it.  
  
The afternoon was coming to an end when she pulled her dress back on as her last guest left. Knowing she was done for the rest of the evening she left the private room he had rented leaving it open for the next couple and walked lazily down the hall, barely even noticing the noises coming from behind closed doors or wide open rooms. She was just thinking about going to find some dinner and helping herself to another cup of tea when Lania, another whore, found her.  
  
“Luna's looking for you,” she informed her, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. “Something about a messenger.” The other girl didn't wait for a response instead just walking on, and Clarke changed direction to go find Luna. As she expected the mistress of the house sat at her desk by the entrance, writing something down in the big ledger she always kept up-to-date with the day's work.  
  
“Congratulations,” the older woman told her, barely even looking up from her writing. She reached over and grabbed a piece of paper folded up beside the ledger and handed it over to Clarke. “Looks like you won over the Glowing Forest lordling; he wants you to accompany him at the queen's next party at the end of the week. Same arrangement.”  
  
Clarke accepted the parchment and scanned over it, reading the formal request for her companionship. She wrinkled her nose at the wording, thinking that at least some of the things her friends at The Rig thought about nobles were right, but ignored it. However Sir Finn wanted to word a night where he hired a whore to be his arm candy and then bed warmer didn't matter to her; all that mattered was that so far her plan was working.  
  
Keeping her expression straight she handed the parchment back to Luna, saying lightly, “I'll have to get a new dress if this becomes a regular request of his.” She looked up from the ledger, eyeing her silently before returning her focus back to the book. “Just make sure you know what you're doing,” she warned, her voice so low even Clarke almost missed it. The woman leaving at that exact moment and passing behind her most certainly hadn't heard it, and Clarke waited until she'd walked through the door to reply just as quietly, “I do.” Luna's brow lifted just a fraction but she didn't say anything else and the younger woman took that as her cue to leave. Rather than follow the customer out of The Rig she made her way to the kitchen to help herself to a cup of tea before going to the staircase, climbing up and up and up until she was on the fourth floor again and then not stopping until she was safely in her room with the door closed securely behind her.  
  
She set her mug of tea on the small table beside her bed and then went to her closet, but this time instead of finding something new to wear she knelt down, feeling along the boards of the floor until the pads of her fingers brushed against one board not quite even with the others. Gently she pried it up and placed it to the side before reaching in the newly created space and pulling a small wooden box out of it. The box would have been just big enough to hold a pair of her soft slippers but weighed as though nothing were inside it and she clutched it close to her chest. Leaving the hiding spot exposed she stood back up and moved over to her bed, sitting down and placing the box in front of her. As soon as she was comfortably situated she pulled the top off the box and began pulling out its contents.  
  
Scraps of parchment, most written in her own hand, soon lined her bed. Dozens of pieces laid in front of her, some with only a few words on them while others held entire paragraphs. The largest had two sketches drawn along its surface, faces she saw all the time in her nightmares. The papers held all the answers she'd been able to find so far as well as the many questions she still had no answers to, and for the thousandth time she began to comb through them, hoping like every night that something new would jump out at her. The words _fire_ , _inn_ , and _accident_ danced in front of her eyes on more than one of the many slips, but the one she always came back to was the word she stared at now, her jaw set stubbornly. _Murder_.  
  
The world believed that Lord Jakob Griffin of the Arkadian Hills and his heir had died in an inn fire, a tragic accident that no one could have seen coming or prevented. Clarke – that very same not-so-dead-heir – was one of the only ones who knew the truth: that fire had been no accident, and it wasn't what had killed her father.  
  
Someone had hired mercenaries to murder her father, and Clarke would never stop until she found out exactly who that person was. When she did, she would make them pay for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for the absolutely amazing response this story has already received! I truly appreciate your incredibly kind words and I hope I'm able to continue pulling you in more and more with every chapter. :) 
> 
> Oh, and to anyone worried about Finn being a main character in this story (there were a couple comments about him, so I figured I would address this): I will assure you right now, he's not. He's important for the first couple of chapters as the story is setup, but he'll fade into the background before too long. He'll be in it in one way or another throughout the story, but just minimally before too long. Just thought you'd all like to know that!


	3. Chapter Three

Two weeks after their first meeting, Queen Alexandria stood surrounded by noblemen and -women, talk of trade and goods going on all around her, but she barely heard it as she stared at a head of dark red hair entertaining an audience on the other side of the room. She couldn't hear what was being said but it was obvious by the way the five people around Clarke stared at her that whatever it was must be enthralling. That or maybe they just enjoyed the way her dress, a beautiful tan tonight, clung so lovingly to her hips. The sleeves of the dress didn't quite make it to her elbows and Lexa had caught Finn running his fingers lightly along the exposed skin more than once, and for some reason the sight irked her. Perhaps it was because the touch was entirely inappropriate for the social setting as was the way he looked at her, or perhaps because every time he did she could see at least one of the other nobles with them glaring at him, likely desiring to be doing the exact same thing. These gatherings were supposed to be an opportunity for the nobility of the thirteen different houses to talk and build new relationships with one another, and now that plan was so masterfully being derailed by one young woman.  
  
She ignored the voice in the back of her mind that whispered how she wanted to be doing the same thing, about how soft she imagined Clarke's skin would feel under the pads of her fingers.  
  
To Lexa's chagrin, this was now the third party the young woman had attended. Apparently Sir Finn saw nothing wrong with bringing an escort to her palace, and from the way the younger nobility acted they felt the same way as he did. The older nobility was another matter of course, many noblewomen turning their noses up at her once they learned who – or rather _what_ – Clarke was while their husbands pretended to agree. Lexa caught many of them eyeing the young woman as soon as their wives weren't paying attention and had to tamper down her annoyance. At least their sons and daughters had the decency not to treat Clarke as though she were a sickness, though she wondered just how many of them would happily catch her if given the opportunity. After all, she was still the most beautiful woman the queen had ever seen.  
  
For her part, Lexa kept her distance. It wasn't that she didn't approve of Clarke's profession, per se; she understood everyone had to find a way to make a living, and she imagined Clarke must be quite well off with the one she'd chosen. The coin she got from Finn alone would likely be enough to pay all her expenses for at least the next few months. It was the appearances she needed to keep up that kept her away from the dark-haired beauty. As the queen, she could hardly let her people see her interacting with a woman who sold her body for money, despite how necessary it might be. She didn't need the gossip that might start or the lectures she'd get from Titus: he'd already given her one such lecture after her first interaction with the redhead, and it was not something she felt the need to repeat. It was safer and wiser to stay away.  
  
Her brother, it seemed, didn't feel the same way. As she watched, Aden left the conversation he'd been having with the lord of Mount Weather and his son and made his way over to the group around Clarke. She was about to look away, mentally preparing the lecture she would be giving _him_ later, when she stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening as she watched the lord of Mount Weather following him. To her utter shock the conversation around the young woman broke off as the prince approached, and then Aden was clearly introducing her to the lord. Lord Dante Wallace took her hand and brought it to his lips, greeting her as though she were just another noble. Lexa could barely believe what she was seeing, and couldn't decide whether to just let the lord greet her or go over and somehow intervene before he learned what she was. Surely Aden couldn't have told him, and she felt embarrassment flood through her. Sometimes her brother just didn't think things through.  
  
“And what do you say, Your Majesty?” a lesser lord from the Boudalan Mountains asked, forcefully pulling Lexa back into their conversation. She scrambled mentally for a second, trying to remember what they had been talking about while keeping her expression even, before he continued, “Would you say the land we won from the Reapers is best for clearing for farmland, or do we salt and burn it?”  
  
“Any land the Reapers touched has to be laced with disease and death,” another lord, this one from the Ingrona Plains, spat. “I say burn it away, that's the best way to get rid of it.”  
  
Lexa fiddled with her wine glass, listening to the debate and when there was a lull replied, “If our enemy could live off it for so long, I see no reason why we can't. Our nation can always use more farmland.” The debate went back and forth, others chiming in with their own opinions, and Lexa let herself be swept away in it, trying to use it to forget about the conversation taking place across the room.  
  
What must have been a half hour later Lexa had moved on from the land debate and was grabbing a new glass of wine from a passing servant when she saw Lord Dante breaking away from Clarke's group. Curious about the easy smile on his face she remained where she was, watching him as he walked towards her.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he greeted her, giving a small bow before reaching up and grabbing one of the other glasses from the servant's tray. “You've put together a fine party.”  
  
“Thank you,” she told him, returning the bow and compliment with a small nod. “I hope it's not too much after your long travels.” He and the rest of the Mount Weather representatives had only just arrived that afternoon. Part of her hadn't been expecting to see the lord: in his early seventies, he was easily the oldest person in the room and she'd assumed he'd be tired enough to skip the festivities and just retire for the night. Here he was though, looking just as awake as anyone else and smiling pleasantly at her.  
  
“I don't imagine I'll be attending too late like many of these young people, but I had to make an appearance. It's been some time since I've been here.” He looked around, shaking his head as he did so before telling her, “I think the last time I was visiting your father and you had only just begun to walk.”  
  
Conversation about her childhood and parents always made her uncomfortable though she never showed it, so she quickly changed the subject. Raising her glass to her lips, she tipped it towards the group he'd just left before taking a sip and then asked carefully, “Did you have a nice conversation with my brother? And his... friends?” She wasn't sure if any of the youth around Clarke would consider each other friends or if it was simply her presence that brought them together but she could think of no other way to describe the group.  
  
Lord Wallace chuckled before taking a drink from his own wine glass. “The prince was telling me about his sword work before he noticed his friends. He's training as a knight, I heard. Lady Anya has offered to take him on as her squire?” Lexa nodded, telling him, “I don't know if I would say she's excited about it, but he certainly is. Anya has threatened to smack him over the head any time he doesn't listen, prince or not.” The words made her grin momentarily, remembering a brief childhood before she'd become queen when she'd follow the newly-made knight around the castle, earning the same small smacks whenever she too hadn't listened. She often thought it was Anya's never-wavering friendship and loyalty that had gotten her through her first few years of ruling.  
  
“That's good,” Dante replied with a solemn nod but Lexa could see the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Even us nobles need to get smacked every now and then.” He nodded back to the group he'd just come from, adding, “I believe every one of those young men could use a good smack, mooning over poor Mistress Blake as openly as they are.”  
  
The conversation shift had Lexa inadvertently looking over his shoulder at the group, and once again her eyes went straight to the younger woman. Unfortunately this time Clarke was listening to one of the others around her talk and happened to be looking up at the same time and somehow their gazes connected. The other woman smiled, nodding slightly to the queen and Lexa bit the side of her tongue to keep her own expression controlled, entirely lost with how she was supposed to act when it came to Clarke. Instead of returning the look or gesture she shifted her focus back to the older lord in front of her.  
  
“Yes I noticed Aden introduced you two,” she stated a little hesitantly, still not sure if he knew her station. He'd called her “Mistress Blake” which meant he knew she wasn't any kind of nobility, but did he know anymore than that? “What did you talk about?”  
  
“Oh this and that,” he replied, waving one frail hand in front of him as though brushing the question away. “She asked whether the globe flowers or blue columbine have started opening up yet along our mountains.” Mount Weather was famous for their flowers, the bright yellow of the globe flowers standing out among the striking blue of the columbine, among many others. Despite herself, Lexa was once again impressed with Clarke's knowledge of the different nations. “She had also heard I enjoy painting and offered to take me to the best shop in Polis to find supplies in.” Shifting slightly to look more comfortably back over his shoulder, he smiled at the dark-haired woman before saying, “Really she seems to be quite the young woman.”  
  
Everything he said just added to the mysterious light she saw Clarke in, but at the moment she had to ignore those mysteries. Instead she told him cautiously, “I'm not sure it would be wise to be seen in public with her, my lord. I imagine people would talk, considering her profession.” She still wasn't sure if he knew what she did, but when he raised an eyebrow and gave her a look Lexa had her answer.  
  
“Your Majesty, I doubt anyone would believe I could keep up with a young woman like her in that way,” he said, his voice dry. “Twenty years ago maybe, but not now.” The look dropping away he shrugged, seeming to be entirely unconcerned with the implications. “Besides, she's a smart young woman; I only talked with her for a short time and I can tell that already. In my many years I've found it's good to keep company with smart people.” He made a face then, adding, “Though not in the way I imagine many people use her company for. Mistress Blake would just be a nice friend to have.” Glancing up at Lexa, he lifted his wine glass to his mouth and said from behind it, “She might be a good friend to you too, Your Majesty.”  
  
Against her will her eyes shifted back to the other woman, Clarke now drawn back into the conversation around her. She couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed to not catch those blue eyes again.  
  
“It wouldn't be appropriate it,” she informed him, though she wondered if he could hear the uncertainty in her tone. Titus would be furious, the nobility would talk, but still she couldn't help that her feet itched to walk over to the group.  
  
“She's a guest at your party,” Dante argued lightly, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “It might be more inappropriate not to speak with her.” Then it was his turn to look past Lexa, spotting something that pulled at his attention. “If you'll excuse me Your Majesty, I haven't yet greeted Lord Emerys.” She nodded and he bowed slightly to her before stepping away and moving towards where the Lord of the Glowing Forest stood by one of the tables set up with piles of food along its surface. He'd barely taken more than a few steps when Lexa found her feet also moving, but in a very different direction and one she wasn't sure she should continue in.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Aden greeted her lightly as she approached the group of young nobles and Clarke, nodding to her as the rest of his party bowed. “Did you have a nice chat with Lord Wallace?”  
  
“I did,” she replied easily, being very careful to spread her focus over the entire group instead of the one person it wanted to be on. “I hope you're all enjoying yourselves over here.” The young lords were quick to assure her they were, a couple nodding almost furiously and any other time it would make her want to laugh how quickly they wanted to please her. At the moment though she was trying not to stare at Clarke out of the corner of her eye, pointedly noticing the young woman was the only one other than Aden that hadn't answered. Keeping her expression even she let herself turn to her, asking politely, “What about you, Mistress Blake? Are you having a good time?”  
  
She thought she saw something in the other woman's expression flash but just like that it was gone and all she was getting was a polite smile. “Of course Your Majesty, I don't know how anyone could not have a good time at one of your parties. The food and music are as lovely as always, as is the company.” She threw the men around her a cheeky grin, one they all seemed to hang on, and it took every bit of control Lexa had spent years building up to keep herself from rolling her eyes or even staring at the ceiling helplessly. Clarke clearly was either a natural born flirt or had had many lessons in its complexity, ones she'd obviously artfully mastered.  
  
Lexa nodded and before she knew it her hand was out between them, offered up to the other woman. “Speaking of the music, would you care to dance? I remember you're an excellent partner.” The last word slipped out before she could catch it and she nearly blushed, thinking about its implications in her line of business, but when Clarke's lips curled up in a slight smirk she managed to keep an entirely straight face. Her hand fell over Lexa's, her palm warm, and she nodded as she accepted. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”  
  
As she'd done two weeks ago Lexa led her to the dance floor, those who stood between them and it quickly moving out of their way. While they walked inwardly the queen panicked, unsure how this had happened. She hadn't meant to go over and certainly hadn't meant to ask Clarke to dance; what would people say, now that everyone knew what the red-haired woman was? What would they talk about? Lexa had really stepped in it this time, but like any true queen she just moved with her head held high and back perfectly straight, pretending not to see any of the people watching them.  
  
They fell into the steps of the dance, their hands coming together while Lexa's other one rested lightly against Clarke's hip and Clarke's shifted up to her shoulder. The queen couldn't decide which was more distracting, the younger woman's hand in hers or the slight pressure she felt against her shoulder. She did her best to ignore them both.  
  
“To be honest I didn't expect you to come over,” Clarke said suddenly after a minute, breaking the silence that had fallen between them as they danced. Lexa looked down at her, noting silently that they stood almost at the same height, the stylish boots she wore the only thing giving her an inch or two on the younger woman. “Why is that?”  
  
“At the party last week it seemed like you were very carefully avoiding me,” she replied, not looking away and suddenly Lexa felt both embarrassed and a little ashamed. She hadn't thought Clarke had noticed, but apparently she was more observant than the queen had given her credit for. “I assumed you'd learned what I am and decided it would be best to keep your distance. Not that I blame you.”  
  
It surprised Lexa to hear her speak so blatantly, enough that for just a split second she was at a loss for words. “I... Here you are first and foremost my guest. It would be rude of me to keep my distance.” She watched the blue of Clarke's eyes scan across her face, apparently looking for something, and didn't look away until the other woman nodded lightly.  
  
Again they fell into a lapse of silence, only the sound of the music and talk around them breaking through it. Lexa's eyes shifted from her face to her shoulders to the people and things around them, not sure where to look or what to say, until she heard, “You can ask me, if you'd like.” Eyes moving back to her face she found blue still staring up and piercing into her, the look so intense she had to swallow before asking casually, “I'm sorry?”  
  
To her utter shock Clarke rolled her eyes before raising an eyebrow, giving her a look.  
  
“All those questions you have you think would be impolite to ask,” she clarified, her tone even. “You can ask me. I don't mind.”  
  
Lexa hesitated for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her lip. “Are you sure? I don't want to pry or make you uncomfortable.” Clarke let out a slight laugh, almost a snort, and then replied, “Your Majesty, I'm a whore; believe me when I say nothing you can ask me now is going to make me uncomfortable.”  
  
The fact that she stated it so blatantly almost made Lexa blush, the heat rising quickly to her cheeks. She held it back as best she could, slipped on the best diplomatic mask she had, before asking carefully, “What made you choose to become...?”  
  
“It was necessity, mostly,” she answered when it was clear the queen wasn't going to finish the question. “It was just the best option for me. The only option, really.” Lexa nodded slowly, wondering how a woman like Clarke could have been backed into a corner where her only option was selling her body for coin, but didn't ask that; despite what she had said, she thought that might in fact make the other woman uncomfortable. Instead she asked, “How long have you been doing... this?”  
  
“Six years,” was the response, and Lexa's diplomatic mask hid her surprise flawlessly as always. “I started when I was sixteen.” The queen didn't know if that was the normal age to get into this particular profession but it sounded young. Rather than say anything she just said, “It doesn't show.” Backtracking quickly as Clarke's other eyebrow rose to join the first, she clarified, “I meant only that I never would have guessed you were in this profession.” Raising the hand settled on her hip, she waved it around lightly, gesturing to the room around them before returning it to the same spot. “You blend in with the nobles around you very well and are very well conversed in topics I wouldn't have expected a commoner to know much about let alone care for.”  
  
Again Lexa thought she saw a flash of something spark in the bright blue watching her, a spark of... something, but just as quickly as it appeared it was gone again.  
  
“I trained for a while at The Breeding House,” she replied, naming a place Lexa had heard about before but only in passing. From what she understood it was some kind of school where young common men and women went to learn how to interact with the nobility and all of its students went on to become escorts for those with higher bloodlines. She'd always thought it sounded foolish, the need to train commoners how to act around nobles who'd only hired them for sex, but Clarke's presence at her parties made her second guess those thoughts. “My mistress Luna Flou hired me to work for her at The Rig after that and I've been there ever since.” She stopped only to adjust her hand in Lexa's as the tempo of the music changed and gave her another little smirk. “I've done quite well in Polis, I admit. There's always young noblemen and -women coming to try to seek favor with the queen and at night many of them want someone to help keep their bed warm.” She winked at her then and Lexa shook her head, utterly bewildered by what she'd just heard. She never would have guessed that her nobles came to see her by day and then turned to Clarke once the sun had set and honestly wasn't sure she would ever be able to look at any of them again without wondering if they'd been one of Clarke's companions. If just a spark of that bewilderment was actually jealousy, she ignored it completely.  
  
“I'm... glad I am able to help your business,” she told her, giving her a hesitant smile. “I had no idea the people coming to see me kept you so busy.” Clarke shared her smile, hers growing as she said, “I guess in a way they come for both of us.”  
  
“Just for very different reasons,” the queen joked, the younger woman's smile infectious. Clarke began to nod but the motion slowed as she looked past Lexa's shoulder, apparently thinking about something. For a moment she stared off as though she weren't really paying attention to the queen in front of her and then mused more quietly, “Are we really that different though? I mean if you think about it, the job descriptions for a whore and a queen really aren't that different.”  
  
Lexa stiffened, not exactly faltering in their dance but certainly no longer paying attention to it, though if she were being honest with herself the steps were just automatic at this point as she'd been focused on the dark-haired woman this whole time. The words were like a slap to the face, a comparison any queen would find fault in, and if she were anyone else Clarke might be about to find herself in very deep trouble. As it was she thought the younger woman should choose her next words very carefully.  
  
Clarke seemed to realize what she'd said at the same time Lexa did, and her eyes widened as though she were surprised. This time the queen knew the red of her cheeks came from a blush and not the rouge dusted over her skin, and she dipped her head. “My apologies Your Majesty. I didn't mean that the way it came out.” After a second Lexa nodded, her head barely moving, and she could practically feel Clarke relax a little against her. There was a short pause as neither said anything else, a silence growing between them, before the other woman said, “Though... I'm not wrong.”  
  
The queen grit her jaw slightly for just a second and then lifted an eyebrow at her. “Explain, please. I'm interested to hear how you think our roles are the same.”  
  
Clarke took a moment to think her words over, Lexa reading the hesitation in her expression, and then she saw the other woman give a little shrug and that hesitation all but disappeared. The change happened so swiftly it took the queen by surprise, and then Clarke was speaking again.  
  
“A whore's job is to satisfy the person who pays for their service. They have little say in how that satisfaction is given, just have to go along with what their companion wants.” She looked up, meeting Lexa's eyes and the queen and to carefully keep her expression from changing as she stared into that piercing blue. “Sometimes I have to take control, other times I have to give it up. If I do my job right, then the person is more likely to come back again and I'll get more of their coin. If they like me they may even tell their friends about me and I'll get more business; dislike me, and I may get less.” She shrugged again, stepping back and dipping in time with the music before moving back into the queen's space and for a second Lexa had a difficult time catching her breath as she felt Clarke's chest briefly pressed against her own.  
  
“Isn't it similar for a queen?” she continued, still not looking away. “Just on a larger scale? I only have to satisfy one, maybe two people at a time: you have to satisfy an entire nation. Your nobles give you support, money, soldiers, but to get all of that you need to make them happy. Us commoners pay your taxes, farm your crops, butcher your livestock; if we're not happy, you don't eat. If enough people aren't happy, you could even have a rebellion on your hands. You have to choose your battles in the same way I have to decide to take or give away control.” She shrugged again, stopping their movements as the song ended, and Lexa found she couldn't make herself look away, thoroughly shocked by everything this woman was saying to her. “Honestly, I think I'd rather be a whore than a queen: at least all I have to give away is my body. You have to give your people every part of you.”  
  
“You are not like anyone I've ever met before,” Lexa muttered, unsettled by Clarke's analysis. It made more sense than she cared to admit, and she didn't like that. For her part the younger woman simply smiled her dazzling smile and it made the queen uneasy the way her heart skipped a beat in her chest. “Of course I'm not Your Majesty, unless there are other whores you've been dancing with.” She raised both of her eyebrows, inviting Lexa in on her joke and then sighed wistfully. “Though as nice as this dance has been, I'm afraid it's distracting both of us from our jobs. I should return to Sir Finn, since he is the one paying me tonight.” She curtsied beautifully, the whisper of her skirts against the floor somehow making it to Lexa's ears, and lowered her head briefly. “Thank you for the honor, Your Majesty: you are a beautiful dancer.”  
  
“Thank you, Mistress Blake,” Lexa replied, returning the curtsy with the custom nod of her head. “You've certainly given me a few things to think about.”  
  
“Clarke,” she reminded the queen as she looked back up, a smirk once again tucked away at the corners of her mouth. “Please.”  
  
“Clarke,” she agreed, feeling her own smile tucked away much in the same fashion, and the two stared at each other for just another second before the younger woman turned and made her way back over to Sir Finn. The queen watched her go, wondering how a girl she'd only just met – and a whore no less – could confuse and astound her more than any of the dozens of nobles in the room around her.  
  
Clarke was certainly a mystery and selfishly she began to hope that she would keep being invited to Lexa's parties so she could continue to try to solve it. Even if that did mean she was in for any number of lectures from Titus, they just might be worth it. 

***

Hands gripped at her hips, the fabric of her skirt caught between fingers clearly itching to pull it off. Lips sucked expectantly behind her ear and Clarke let out a husky chuckle, lightly pushing Finn back as the door to his room opened with their weight against it. He moved back just a step, an eager smirk pulling at his lips as he eyed her over. From the glow of the lit hearth she could see the pink tinging his cheeks, the most notable evidence of those last two glasses of wine she knew he probably shouldn't have had. She'd stayed quiet, knowing that his being drunk could only help her tonight.  
  
She closed the door behind them and the moment the latch clicked into place she could feel him at her back, his arms sliding around her middle and pulling her close as his lips returned to the spot behind her ear. She laughed again and turned around in his hold, using one hand to lightly press against his chest and make him take a step back.  
  
“Patience my lord,” she told him, cocking an eyebrow at him and giving him the look she knew he was expecting. His grin grew as his eyes trailed from her face down to her chest, now blatantly staring at her low neckline. “We have all night, what's your rush?”  
  
“I want you,” he said, voice low and words clear despite the obvious signs of alcohol in his system. He reached down and grabbed the hand still pressed against his chest, gently bringing it up to his mouth and leaving wet kisses against her skin before beginning to trail his lips up the inside of her arm. “You've been driving me crazy.”  
  
“That's what you pay me for,” she joked, her voice dipping as she bit her lip at him. As she'd expected his eyes immediately drew to the motion, and she could practically see the tent rising in his breeches. Apparently the wine hadn't been potent enough to affect _that_. He reached the crook of her elbow where her skin became hidden by cloth and made to pull her closer but she easily extracted herself from his hold, stepping back and looking at him coyly. She shifted to the side of the room where a second door was, the small privy closed off behind it and smirked at him. “While I freshen up, why don't you get comfortable?” She very purposefully looked to the bed, her intentions clear, and his face lit up. Beginning to pull at the buttons of his dark jacket he grinned at her, telling her, “Don't leave me for too long or I'll have to start without you.” She bit her lip again as though the idea appealed to her and he chuckled before shrugging out of the jacket and moving over to the bed.  
  
Clarke headed into the privy, closing the door behind her and almost instantly her expression shifted. The coy grin fell away and instead her mouth curled down, her brow furrowing as she reached down for the little pouch hidden in one pocket of her gown. In the other was her knife, tucked away as ever, within reach should she need it, but for now she left it alone and instead pulled out the small leather sack. Inside she found a small jar, the one she kept on hand for just these occasions, and carefully opened it. Inside was red lip paint, a color she knew enticed any man and many women, and quickly she dipped her pinky finger in until she'd collected a small glob. With the skill she'd mastered years ago she carefully spread it along her lips being extra cautious not to let any of the paint get past them. While most whores' lip paint was used only to draw in customers, hers had an extra little kick to it, one she didn't need to test out on herself. Once she had a nice layer along her lips she wiped what was left on her finger against the inside of the pouch, covered the jar again and dropped it back into the leather bag. Binding it back up tightly she placed it back into her pocket, lightly patting at her skirt once it was inside to make sure it was clearly hidden. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself she forced the smile back to her lips and then turned back around to return to the main room.  
  
Finn had moved to the bed, partially laying while he leaned back against the worn headboard. He'd stripped down to his breeches and under shirt and grinned when he saw her, his focus drawn immediately to her lips. Glancing down, she could easily see how much he appreciated the little added color.  
  
“You look very comfortable, my lord,” she teased, stopping just a couple of feet away from the bed. “I almost hate to interrupt you.”  
  
“Don't,” he replied, quickly shoving himself up and turning so his legs hung over the side of the bed. “Comfort is the last thing I care about right now. Except.” He pushed himself up and closed the space between them, his hands immediately going to the ties at the back of her dress. Clarke could feel his fingers moving behind her as he began to untie them, and closed her eyes when he leaned forward, his lips hovering by her ear. “Maybe you should take this off. It doesn't look that comfortable. Beautiful, but not comfortable.”  
  
The strings came undone and he plucked at them, the fabric immediately loosening against her. The top of the dress fell away, her breasts now fully on display, and the fabric gathered at her waist. At first her initial reaction in this moment of nudity had been to cover herself, arms crossing over her bare breasts, but that had been long ago. Now she just stood still while his hands moved down to her waist, tugging lightly against the dress until it fell the rest of the way to the floor. Now she stood in front of him in only her smallclothes and the slippers she'd worn to the palace and his eyes scanned down her pale skin, drinking it all in. Once he'd gotten his fill of the sight for the moment his lips were on her collarbone, sucking and nipping lightly. She tilted her head back to give him more access and pressed against him, feeling a certain hardness growing as it pressed against her thigh.  
  
“It seems like my lord sees something he likes,” she joked, one hand falling down to cup him lightly through his breeches. She heard him take in a sharp breath against her skin, his hands moving to grip her hips tightly as though to hold her in place.  
  
“Gods, you have no idea,” he muttered, the words thick before he pulled back just enough to look back up at her. There was that love-struck look again, hidden away beneath his lust but still so present, and on some level she almost felt bad for him. Immediately she squashed that thought and tightened her grip against him, making him groan.  
  
“Sir Knight, take me to your bed,” she murmured, moving closer so she could whisper the order in his ear. She knew the change in title would bolster his ego, the evidence of that clear in the palm of her hand and with the way his chest puffed out just a little. With her free hand she reached up and grabbed his chin in her fingers, tilting his face until it was just where she wanted it. Leaning up she quickly pressed their mouths together, a flash of triumph washing through her as he sank into the kiss. The flash remained bottled up inside where he couldn't see it and completely unaware he deepened the kiss, pulling her bottom lip between his own to suck on.  
  
“Whatever you say, Mistress Blake,” he let out with a chuckle the moment their mouths parted and he turned them so that Clarke was closer to the bed. His grip on her hips tightened and then his hands slid down to her thighs, lifting her and tossing her onto the mattress. She smirked at him as she felt her back hit the sheets, not taking her eyes off him as he quickly stripped himself of his shirt and breeches. In his haste his shirt got stuck over his head for just a moment, his excitement and slight drunkenness getting the better of him, but then it was off and thrown to the floor to join her dress. As he undressed she kicked off her slippers but left the last piece of cloth covering her on, knowing he would want to be the one to remove it. Some customers preferred she do it, just strip off all clothing so they could get to what they really wanted faster, but she'd learned Finn liked being the one to undress her. She guessed it made him feel more powerful, drew out the entire act for him, and just let him do as he wished. Technically that was what she was being paid for, and plenty of others expected far more than just the power to undress her.  
  
As soon as he was bare the young lord returned all his focus on her, eyeing her up and down lying on his bed. Clarke returned the look as she knew he wanted, staying still as he climbed onto the mattress to join her. Soon his hands were on her body, fingers pressing against her skin and lips trailing down her neck and chest to close around a dusty pink nipple.  
  
Clarke made the noises she knew he expected, but barely even felt his touch. The entire act had just become a show to her, a performance to put on for her guest and one she was sure she could do in her sleep. His touch lit no fire in her, created no mad desire to be kissed or taken, but she sighed as though it did. When he bothered to look at her face he found what he expected to find, a smile or her lips parted in little gasps but in reality she was silently counting the seconds away. It was only a matter of time before this would all end and she could stop pretending for the moment, and all she had to do was wait for it. He stripped her of her smallclothes, spreading her legs for her, and where at one point she would have fought against the action now she just let it happen, more than used to it. Before long he had tired of padding his fingers over her skin and must have felt his own need swelling up, as he quickly climbed on top of her and lined himself up with her opening. He filled her quickly, a sharp breath that was more automatic reaction to the movement than anything else escaping her lips, but he grinned as though it were a sign of her returned desire. Without wasting anymore time he began pumping away and Clarke made her gasps grow with the force of his thrusts.  
  
For a few minutes his thrusts remained steady, a little uneven in his movements, but only a short moment after he had begun to speed up as though he were reaching his end those thrusts suddenly began to slow. His hips continued to move for a few long, drawn out seconds, and Clarke watched as his head fell forward before snapping back up, as though he were fighting to stay awake. Her hands went up to his shoulders, arms locked straight as her palms pressed against them, so that when his head finally fell against his chest and didn't rise back up his weight wouldn't come crashing down on her. Carefully she turned them, struggling a moment with his weight, and then let him drop to his side on the bed, fully unconscious. She waited a moment to make sure he wouldn't wake back up and then pulled away from him, his hard cock easily slipping out of her. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the opposite side of the bed, she grabbed a corner of the bed sheet and brought it to her mouth, quickly wiping away any of the red paint still on her lips. The drug she mixed into it would knock her out just as easily as it knocked him out: she'd learned that from one unfortunate misuse of it a couple of years ago.  
  
Without any further distractions she stood up from the bed, quickly making her way over to one corner of the room. This was the corner where Finn's bags lived for the duration of his stay at the inn, and she quickly grabbed one and took it over to the hearth. There she sat down in front of the fire, using the light to see better as she began to dig through the bag, wondering what she would find.  
  
Between Luna and the whores at The Rig, she'd been given a fine education of how to survive in this new world, just as fine as the one she'd had in her old world. Where before it had been histories of the great houses and how to keep five fiefs running, now it was how to dig up secrets and gather information. Secrets made the world go round she'd quickly learned, and the keeper of secrets gained all the power, especially when the secrets involved those in higher positions. Having a secret on the baker who lived down the street meant the occasional free meal; having a secret over a lord meant having anything one wanted. By going through their bags after knocking them out, she'd already learned of one lord who was drawn to the dice and owed massive gambling debts, as well as a young noblewoman who planned to run away and get married to her secret lover.  
  
Gambling debts and secret lovers weren't what she was looking for, though. What Clarke always hoped to find were two names.  
  
_Bennet and Jenson_.  
  
She'd finally learned the identity of the two mercenaries just over a year ago. It had taken years of tracking dead ends and unlikely leads, but finally she'd learned the names of the two men who had changed her life forever. She still didn't know who their master was, who had designed her father's death, but she had theories.  
  
One: It had to be a noble, hence her intense focus on the upper class. Killing her father and herself would have been an expensive job, too expensive for any commoner to be able to afford. Besides, killing a lord or any other member of nobility was always about power, and only other lords could have possibly benefited from her father's death.  
  
Two: Whoever had hired these two men had either known she and her father would be at that inn on that particular day or had hired them to stalk them and take them out whenever the opportunity presented itself. That meant he or she either knew them well enough to know when and where they would be traveling or they had the boldness to have them followed with the possibility they would be spotted. She didn't like either option, since one meant she likely knew whoever this was and the other meant they took risky chances that wouldn't bode well for her if they ever found out she was alive.  
  
Three: Her father hadn't been the only one in that fire; as far as she knew no one else had made it out alive. That meant this person didn't care who else got hurt along the way, just so long as their target had been eliminated. If they did ever find out Clarke was still alive, they would do whatever, hurt whoever, it took to finish their plan. It was that fear that had kept her from going home after the fire, that had made her walk away from her mother and sister and everyone in Arkadia, the fear that more of the people she loved would wind up dead if she returned.  
  
Quietly Clarke opened the bag, peering inside the opening. At first all she saw were clothes, these ones more for riding or walking around the city than for attending royal parties. Carefully she pulled them all out, shaking out each pair of breeches and shirt, combing through any pockets she found for scraps of paper. However unlikely, it was always possible she would find some clue to get her closer to her goal. She highly doubted Finn had anything to do with her father's death but his father was another story. The Glowing Forest was one of the houses closer to the Arkadian Hills, close enough that they had already done trade even before the queen's alliance came into existence. She knew her father had even been considering reaching out to Lord Emerys to discuss a possible marriage opportunity between his heir and one of the lord's younger sons. Maybe Emerys had decided to expand on his land and thought the best way to do that would be to remove Arkadia's lord and heir and send their people into a turmoil. If that were the case Finn might very well lead her to Bennet and Jenson: sons often called on the same contacts as their fathers for their own problems and the young knight might have a problem Clarke didn't yet know about.  
  
At the very least she had to look, unable to pass this opportunity up. She might find something, and if she didn't at least she could feel better about letting Finn touch her once she knew it wasn't likely his family had destroyed her own.  
  
The only scrap of paper she found in his riding clothes was another request to be sent to The Rig to procure her services again the next week. She thought he was getting a little impatient, having the note all written up before she'd even left after this encounter, but in his defense it was probably a good thing: the way the second son of Lord Damos Hyll, a lesser lord from the Boudalan Mountains, had been watching her tonight, she had a feeling he wouldn't be the only one asking for her services.  
  
Folding the clothes and then setting them aside, she continued going through the bag, checking every pocket and corner. When nothing else turned up in that one she repacked it, careful to return everything as it had been before she'd disturbed it. Luna had taught her that little trick, telling her horror stories of thieves who hadn't hidden their presence well enough and had been caught by those they'd been trying to steal from. The stories of their gruesome ends had instilled a need for thoroughness in her she hadn't ever felt before.  
  
With that bag back in order she returned it to the pile, grabbing the next one and bringing it over to the fire to start again. This bag was larger and held many of Finn's nicer clothes, the ones he would wear whenever in the queen's presence. As she looked through them she couldn't help but think about the queen and their conversation earlier that night. She still didn't know what had possessed her to compare her to a whore, her mouth just running away with her. That should concern her: Clarke never said anything without thinking it through and mulling it over, but for some reason with the queen she felt comfortable enough to just start talking. To an extent it _did_ concern her, but mostly due to the fact it didn't. The comfort she felt with the older woman came out of nowhere and had blind-sided her, something she didn't like at all. Silently she swore to herself she'd be more careful, more on guard with the most powerful woman in the nation, and got back to her searching.  
  
This bag held nothing for her, and soon she was packing the fancy clothes back as they had been and returning it to its corner.  
  
The third bag held knickknacks, items Finn clearly hadn't wanted to spend the summer without. Three books were tucked away at the bottom of the bag and she slowly flipped through every page, glancing over the writing to see if it could be of any use. One felt familiar as she skimmed through it, and on closer examination she realized it was a copy of a book she used to own as well, a history on the different houses of the land. She basically had it memorized by the time she was fourteen and shook her head at thinking he'd needed to bring it with him, a young man in his early twenties. The other two were full of heroic ballads and poems, tales of princesses being swept away by their true loves and heroes slaying the dragons. She wasn't surprised to find he was a romantic, the lovesick looks he gave her every now and then already having hinted at it. Though nice enough, she wasn't particularly impressed. Sir Finn may play at being a knight, but it was only in title. From what she'd learned he hadn't fought in the Queen's War, somehow managing to stay out of it, and she suspected he enjoyed his title more for the attention it gave him than for the duty bound to it. She'd met knights before, true knights, and he wasn't one however much he pretended at it.  
  
The final two bags held nothing else of substance, no hidden notes or secret documents that would lead her straight to her revenge. Clarke knew it was foolish to ever think she'd be so lucky, but nevertheless she couldn't help but feel just a little disappointed. One of these days she would get there, find those last pieces of the puzzle that would finally give her the full picture, but clearly it wouldn't be tonight. Just as carefully as before she packed everything back up as it had been and then returned the bags to their places, and then she just stood by the fire for a few minutes, staring into the dying flames.  
  
_Someday I'll find you_ , she thought as the fire danced before her, the reach of the flames waxing and waning as they ate away at the wood beneath them. _And when I do I'll make you pay for what you did. I'll make you pay for all of it_.  
  
Finally she tore her gaze away from the fire and turned back to the room. Finn still lay on the bed where she left him, his chest now pressed against the mattress, and she made her way back over to the bed, crawling onto it to lay beside him. She would be there when he woke up and would smile at him, give him that little smirk, and he'd forget this had happened. He'd think they kept going until they were too tired to continue and that the wine was why he couldn't remember. He wouldn't say anything other than how great they were, how great she was, and she would just smile all the more. It always played out the same way and she had no doubt it would be any different with him.  
  
One arm curled beneath her head, a pillow in its own right. She stared at the young lord, watching his face as he slept. His chest rose and fell easily, any dreams he was having obviously peaceful. She envied that. With her free hand she reached out and gently swept the long hair from his eyes, tucking it back behind his ear so she could see him better.  
  
“If things had gone differently we might be married,” she murmured quietly, her voice breaking the quiet of the room. “By now we would have at least two children, little lords or ladies always under feet. I think your favorite thing would be trying to make me smile. We would be here as the young Lord and Lady Griffin with my mother and father. Maybe the queen and I would actually become friends. I might even have grown to love you.”  
  
She didn't fear his hearing her; as deeply asleep as he was, nothing of what she'd said would get through. He would wake up in the morning believing – just as the rest of the world did – that Clarke Griffin was dead, and that the woman beside him was nothing more than a simple, beautiful whore.  
  
Sometimes it was a lie even she believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: the only reason this story exists is because I had a dream months ago of Clarke and Lexa dancing in the middle of some medieval-ish party. Clarke was a whore and Lexa was a queen and Clarke was comparing the two professions and then I woke up and my mind just developed the story from there. So yeah, that one little piece of this chapter grew into this story. :)


	4. Chapter Four

Harper worked her tongue ceaselessly against Clarke's clit as her fingers thrust into her and her head snapped back against the plush cushions she laid on in response. Their current companion knelt behind Harper, furiously pounding his cock into her, grunting from his efforts. With Harper's head buried between her legs it was really only Clarke's face he could clearly see so she over exaggerated everything, from her gasps and groans to the grip she held on her friend's hair. He seemed to be loving every second of it, a smirk on his face even as his jaw hung open. The man kept glancing from Clarke's face to his cock slipping in and out of Harper, obviously very proud of himself for having two whores at once. While they'd undressed him and each other he'd bragged about winning some big bet and how there was no better way to spend it than to treat himself to two pretty cunts.  
  
“Aw fuck,” he grunted as his grip on Harper's hips tightened. “Fuck, take my cock. Take it, fuckin' whore.”  
  
When Clarke glanced down her body Harper looked up at the same time. The other woman rolled her eyes, hidden from their guest, and Clarke had to fight away her grin so he wouldn't see it. She looked back towards the man when one arm moved at the corner of her vision and then his hand came down against Harper's ass with a sharp _smack_. The action made her jump, clearly not expecting it, but he didn't appear to notice. If he did he didn't care, his hips never slowing down in their movements.  
  
He continued going until he'd gotten himself off and then pushed away from them with a satisfied grin, dressing and leaving with a strut. He'd never even given them his name.  
  
Harper glared after him as she grabbed her robe from where it had fallen to the floor and thrust her arms through the sleeves. Standing up she rubbed at the spot he'd hit her, still glaring. “Tiny-cocked fucker.” Clarke let the smile she'd been holding back take over, her lips curling up easily as she followed her friend up. Grabbing her robe as well but not bothering to put it on yet she shifted her weight to lean lightly against the other woman, telling her, “Now that isn't a very nice thing to say about a paying customer. Even if he did have a tiny cock.”  
  
“Yeah well that hurt,” Harper muttered angrily, still glaring as though it would somehow help take the sting from her bottom. Clarke let out a light chuckle and shook her head. “Your ass has been slapped harder than that before.” A glint appeared in her eye and she leaned more heavily against her, her hip jutting out slightly to the side and bumping against Harper's. “ _I've_ slapped it harder than that.”  
  
That comment wiped the glare from her friend's expression, a joking smile taking over as she looked over to the other woman. Fluttering her eyelashes suggestively she replied, “Well yeah, but it's always so _nice_ when you do it.” She gave Clarke a flirtatious wink that just made her shake her head again and when Harper turned and gave her a look over her shoulder she laughed and gave her ass a light tap. “I won't even make you pay for that,” she joked, leaning over and pressing a light, teasing kiss to the other woman's cheek. She then gave her a light shove, the teasing tone still audible as she added, “Now go get cleaned up, Luna probably has others waiting for us.” Harper fluttered her eyelashes once more, winked, and then left the room, pulling her robe closed around her.  
  
Clarke didn't bother going to wash up since it had only been Harper touching her. She slipped into her robe, a light blue that trailed a little behind her on the floor when she walked, and left the room, turning in the opposite direction than her friend had gone. Making her way down through the second and first floors of The Rig she made sure to swing her hips any time she passed a customer even if another whore were already leading them to a room to be serviced. They could always come back, and maybe they'd remember the young woman with the blue eyes and mysterious red hair who smiled so prettily at them before.  
  
As usual she found Luna sitting at her desk, eyeing over the three men and one woman waiting to be seen to, likely thinking about who to pair them with. Clarke looked at them all from beneath her eyelashes, letting them all think she was interested in what she saw and the men all puffed up at the look. She stopped at the woman, purposefully looking her up and down, and she blushed. She seemed rather young, maybe not even as old as Clarke, and she fiddled with her skirt. Clarke doubted she had ever even been in a whorehouse before and would stutter about how she knew she shouldn't be there as she was led to one of the rooms. She would probably be moaning before her dress even hit the floor.  
  
“Luna,” she greeted her mistress, making sure her voice was extra husky for the four waiting guests. She made a show of looking away from them and then leaning against the desk, her robe getting caught in a way that tugged it open a little, just enough so the side of her breast was on display. Acting like she didn't even notice she looked at the woman behind the desk, telling her, “I'm available again, if you have anyone new for me.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see the girl's blush deepen, her cheeks and neck now a dark pink.  
  
Her mistress didn't play into her little show. Instead she held up a scrap of paper between two fingers and held it out to her. “A repeat customer has asked for you,” she just said, her eyes meeting Clarke's. “Your little friend is waiting for you at the Dropship, the usual room. Murphy dropped this off grumbling about how he isn't a messenger boy anymore.”  
  
All at once her act fell away, no longer even bothering to pretend to be interested in any of the people behind her. She stood up straighter and grabbed the paper from Luna, unfolding it and quickly scanning over the writing. She would know that handwriting anywhere, and without so much as glancing back at her mistress or the guests waiting and clearly disappointed in her departure without them she hurried back up through the building and into her room. Quickly she threw off her robe and slipped into a real dress, though not one of the nice ones she wore when she was with Finn or other lords. This one was a simple brown wool gown with a neckline far more appropriate than most of her others. She pulled on her sturdy leather boots and then left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Just as quickly she made her way back through the building, none of the normal distractions found in a whorehouse slowing her down. When a drunkard grabbed her arm as she passed him, grinning lustily at her as he looked her over she just grabbed his fingers and pried them off of her, bending them far enough back to be painful before letting go. He was drunk enough he probably wouldn't remember the minor discomfort later anyway.  
  
Clarke walked the mile to the Dropship, another inn whores often frequented, though this one not solely for business. The owners, a man named John Murphy and his wife Emori, were well-liked by the lower class citizens of Polis. The Dropship had a reputation for good food, nice rooms, and there was almost always at least one game of dice taking place in their common room. They over-charged the wealthy that stayed there and under-charged the poor, often dishing out free meals to the street scum who hadn't otherwise eaten in a week. Murphy hated anyone thinking he was a good guy, the snarky young man glaring at anyone who dared to call him any such thing to his face, but playful and sly Emori balanced him out. They were only a few years older than Clarke and two of the few people she actually trusted, though not with any of her secrets. As it was they knew more about her than she liked, but since they never asked about her secret rendezvous with the person she was headed to see now she let that itch go.  
  
Walking in the front door, Clarke was bombarded by noise. Just over a dozen guests sat at the long wooden tables set up in the common room, some eating whatever Emori had made for lunch that day while others just drank from the tankards in front of them. A group in the corner sat huddled around a set of dice, loud cheers and groans erupting from them with every roll. She ignored it all, walking straight through the room and over to the counter she could see Murphy standing behind. He glared at her as she approached.  
  
“I haven't been a messenger for almost ten years now,” he growled at her, “but your special friend comes back and I get to go back to delivering pieces of paper. What the hell's that about, Blake?”  
  
She put on her best, most charming smile, crossing her arms over the counter and resting her chin on them so she could look up through her eyelashes at him. “You know how tired he gets from all his traveling. The only thing he has any energy for when he comes back is me.” She shot him a wink and bit her lip and he just grimaced. “Yeah well next time he comes back tell 'im he can hire his own messenger to fetch you.”  
  
A hand clapped her shoulder and Clarke looked over, finding Emori standing next to her, a tray tucked between her hip and other arm. The scar on her cheek she'd received during a drunken brawl between two guests five years ago only added to her looks, making her both dangerous and attractive. “Don't let him groan at you,” she informed the younger woman, shooting a grin at her husband, “he just likes to complain.” His glare shifted to his wife and he stuck his jaw out stubbornly before deciding to go check on the dice game in the corner, pointedly ignoring them. Clarke grinned as he left, telling Emori, “His groaning is at least a change from the groaning I usually have to listen to.” She sighed dramatically and waved her hand slightly in the air. “But I guess a whore's work's never done. My special friend has traveled so far to see me, I better not keep him waiting any longer. He really hates to be kept waiting.”  
  
“I don't mind waitin' for ya, sweetheart,” one of the men around the dice table called, leaning back on the bench and giving her a grin. “Feels like I already been waitin' forever to get to see that sweet cunt'a yers again.” He winked at her and Clarke laughed before raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
“And you won't see it again until you've got the coin to pay for it, Cole,” she replied, pretending to lift her nose up at him. As though she'd thought about it a bit further she seemed to give in a little, adding, “But when you do, you know where I live.” She shot him a wink and his grin grew before he turned and slapped his neighbor hard on the back. “Hand over them dice, I got coin to win!”  
  
Emori shook her head at the interaction, the corners of her mouth turning up, and then hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the door to the staircase. “Your guest is in the usual room. Probably want to get going.” Clarke gave her a smile and then left the room, lifting her skirt a little to keep from tripping as she began climbing up the stairs.  
  
The Dropship was a small inn with only three floors, just a handful of rooms on each. She stopped at the second and then went all the way down the hall, stopping at the last door on the right. This room was spaced a little further away from the others, either purposefully so its occupants could have a little extra privacy or by fault in the building's design, she didn't know which. Either way that little extra bit of privacy was what this specific companion of hers always wanted, and now she lightly knocked on the door before letting herself in. She shut the door behind her and made sure to lock it before stepping away and finally actually looking around the room.  
  
Wells had been sitting on the bed pressed up against the wall and cleaning his sword, but the moment he saw her he let the sword fall to the mattress and stood up. He fell into a deep bow, his right hand curling into a fist and pressing over his heart. “My lady.”  
  
The rush of emotions she felt whenever she saw him always caught her off guard, even when she tried to prepare herself for it. For the briefest of seconds her throat burned and she felt tears well up in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly pushed both aside. There was no calming the sudden mad beating of her heart though she could ignore it, nor could she stop the pang of guilt she felt whenever she first saw him again from springing through her. Having him with her again was both a blessing and an agony, a dichotomy that ate away at her as her eyes swept over him.  
  
It had been just over five months since the last time she'd seen him, and now she could see the way that time had chipped away at him. She thought maybe he'd put on more muscle but if he had he still managed to lose some weight in his face. His cheeks looked thinner, more sallow than she could remember. His hair had grown, what was usually a close trim having grown past his ears. She would cut it for him before he left again: she knew how much he preferred it short. His shoulders were still just as broad as she remembered them, just as strong as they had been when she had forced him to help her carry the weight of her revenge and grief with her. Though his sword lay on the mattress behind him she could see the dagger at his belt and knew he had another hidden in his left boot, prepared as always for anything, just as her father had taught him. Now he stood in front of her, bowing to a lady who was a whore and she let out a sigh.  
  
“Wells come on, we've been over this,” she reminded him, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I'm not a noblewoman anymore, not a lady. You don't have to always greet me with a bow and definitely not with that title. I'm a whore now: you don't bow to a whore.”  
  
He looked up at that word, his brow furrowing and anger flashing briefly across his eyes. “You are Lady Clarke Griffin of the Arkadian Hills,” he said and she grit her jaw, “just because no one else knows that doesn't mean I won't treat you like it.”  
  
“Wells,” she warned, giving him a look but he just met it and they stared at each other in a battle of wills. It was the same argument they'd had on and off for the past six years, ever since Clarke decided to take on the whore persona. He'd fought her on it, harder than he'd ever fought her on anything before, but in the end he'd had to give in. That didn't stop him from treating her like a noblewoman though; in fact she swore it made him more determined to treat her like one than ever. The few times they had ever been seen together by others she acted the whore and he remained silent, just glaring at anyone who looked at him, but when they were locked away from the world he treated her with all the respect her blood was due. She hated it, the reminder of her old life also a reminder of what he'd had to give up for her, but nothing she could say would get him to stop. Now she looked away, eyes closing as she tried to push those thoughts back. They weren't helpful, and the only things she cared about now were those that would help them get her revenge.  
  
“What did you find?” she asked, deciding to just get down to business. She looked back at him to find he was still staring at her, and silently she wished it didn't unnerve her. By now she was used to people staring, watching her just about wherever she went, but those people only saw Clarke Blake, the character she wanted them to see. Wells saw past the persona, was the only one who knew just how fake it was, and now she felt raw and open in front of him. She could hide everything from the world but nothing from him, and as much as she had missed him the vulnerability she could feel oozing out from behind the mask she always wore made her feel a kind of nakedness far more personal than what she was used to.  
  
“Them,” he answered, and just like that the uncertainty she'd felt a moment ago disappeared entirely. “I found them. Jenson and Bennet.”  
  
“ _What_?” Clarke demanded, involuntarily taking a step towards him. She was sure she couldn't have heard him right. “What did you say?”  
  
“I found Jenson and Bennet,” he repeated, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth but not quite sticking. He didn't smile that much anymore; it was really too bad because he had such a nice smile, but Clarke was too preoccupied at the moment to think on that any further. He gestured to the bed and she crossed the room, taking the seat he offered knowing he wouldn't sit until she did, and then he continued.  
  
“A little more than two months ago I picked up their trail,” he told her, “in the Broadlands.” He sat on the edge of the bed and turned to face her and Clarke watched him closely as he spoke, hanging on his words. “I heard a blacksmith talking about a couple of mercenaries who'd just been through there bragging about being on a noble's payroll. I showed him your pictures and he confirmed it was them.” Back when this had all started she'd made two copies of the sketches, keeping one for herself and giving the other to him. They'd pulled them out many times over the years hoping someone would recognize their faces, and while they'd managed to get a few tips off of them this was easily their biggest break. “I missed them there but found others who'd heard they were heading towards Azgeda so I followed their trail. I finally caught up with them about three weeks ago and have been tailing them ever since.”  
  
“Where are they now?” she wanted to know, her tone harsher than she meant it to be. As he told her his story her pulse began to race, the end of this hell finally slowly coming into sight, and her hands clenched into tight fists. Her fingernails bit into her palms and for a second an image flashed in her mind of her hands wrapping around their necks and squeezing until their faces turned blue. Suffocation would be too quick though, a mercy killing she had no plan to give them. As soon as she got what she wanted out of them she would make them bleed for what they'd done to her father.  
  
“They're staying at an inn in a small village about a two days' ride from here,” he informed her and she grit her jaw tightly. “You just left them?” she demanded, anger coursing through her. They were so close, _so close_ , but what if they got away? What if they disappeared again and they had to wait another seven years before they found them again? Clarke was sure she'd go mad by then.  
  
He gave her a look, clearly insulted though he did better than most at hiding it.  
  
“Of course not,” he replied, “I paid a friend I met a silver piece to keep his eye on them, though he doesn't know why. He's getting another if he knows exactly where they are when I return.” Clarke's look barely changed, clearly still not sure and he rolled his eyes, the first motion that reminded her of the boy she'd grown up with she'd seen yet. “The friend is a street kid with a little sister,” he continued, “you know he's going to do whatever it takes to get that second silver piece. Remember what Bellamy was like when your father first took him and Octavia in?”  
  
Unlike the two of them, Bellamy and Octavia hadn't been born into wealth. They'd been born common and when Bellamy was just twelve and Octavia six their mother had died, leaving them homeless and without a family. She still wondered what exactly about them had caused her father to take them in one day when he was traveling through the village outside the Griffin estate, but she'd been glad he had: they quickly became good friends with eight-year-old Clarke, the siblings she didn't yet have. Less than a year later Madi had been born but nothing had changed between the three of them, other than arguing at times over who got to hold the new baby.  
  
She missed those days, missed her friends, but couldn't think about that right now.  
  
“Okay fine,” she gave in, seeing his point, “what are you planning to do when you go back?”  
  
“Follow them again,” he answered, his lips pursing into a straight line. “It looks like their next stop is Polis.”  
  
Plans started tumbling around in Clarke's head, the words too perfect. The gods had made her wait for seven years but now they were giving her a gift, sending her enemies right to her. Polis was the right place for them to be, their noble master likely waiting for them here with whatever their next job was, but she hadn't dared to hope it would all work out so easily. Now it looked like everything was finally beginning to pay off. She almost fell to her knees right then and there in prayer to thank the gods for their generosity but she didn't, her mind too busy working over what she could do with this information. She'd visit a temple to give her thanks before heading back to The Rig.  
  
“They'll come to Polis and I'll be waiting for them,” she murmured softly, a deadly tinge to the words. “I'll be ready.”  
  
“ _We'll_ be ready,” he agreed and she could feel his eyes on her. At some point she'd shifted, no longer seeing the room and what was around her while she plotted, but now her focus returned. Turning to him she nodded. “We will.” He gave her a small smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and for the first time since they sat down she really looked at him. Sitting closer to him now she could definitely see that he had lost weight, and his eyes looked tired although he tried not to show it. “Have you eaten?” she asked and he grimaced.  
  
“You know I don't eat well when I travel,” he replied, leaning a little more fully back until he was resting against the headboard. She did know that, and considering it had saved her life once she should be thankful for it, but instead it only made her feel guiltier. Almost all he had done for the past seven years was travel, all solely for her, which meant even when he had money to spare he probably hadn't spent it on any hearty meal.  
  
She stood up, brushing her wrinkled skirt out as she did.  
  
“I'll go see if Emori has any stew made,” she said, flashing him a slight smile. “You're usually able to keep that down. I'll try to wheedle some bread from her too.”  
  
The moment she was on her feet his relaxed body stiffened again, quickly pushing himself up after her. “My lady, let me,” he tried, attempting to step around her towards the door, “you shouldn't have to wait on me.”  
  
Before he could get around her she shifted, mirroring his movements.  
  
“Wells,” she began, the same irritation prickling at the back of her neck as he tried to play this game again. “Enough. We've been over this. I'm not your lady anymore, I'm just a-” She cut herself off as he glared, his jaw coming together in an audible snap. Instead of saying what she had planned to she changed it, continuing with, “You're the higher rank now, okay? As far as the world knows, I'm here to serve you, however you need.” He grimaced at that but the glare lessened at least which was something. “So please, just sit back down and let me go get you some food. It would look strange if you were the one to do it. Besides, it's the least I can do after everything you've done for me.” He stood there for a minute thinking it over, probably trying to see if he could come up with any good argument but then sighed and shook his head. Holding up his hands in surrender he gave her a look, eyes wide and almost playful and it tugged at her heart. “Alright, you win. I'll sit.” He did just that, lowering himself back to the mattress and then leaned back against the headboard again. Glancing over at her his lips tugged up into a small smile. “Thanks.”  
  
“I should be thanking you,” she told him earnestly. Again she felt a burning sensation rise up the back of her throat and this time she wasn't entirely able to push it away. “You did it Wells; you found them.”  
  
“Bennet and Jenson,” he agreed, giving a slight nod, “I found them. We still need to figure out who their master is.”  
  
“Oh I intend to,” Clarke promised, a look flashing across her face that made Wells internally shudder though he didn't let it show. He'd watched his best friend harden after her father was killed, watched how everything that had happened between then and now had changed her, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little afraid of her. He would do anything for her still, kill for her and die for her, but somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel the tiniest sliver of pity for these two men they had finally found.  
  
They had no idea the danger they would be in the moment they stepped into Polis. They were walking right into the lion's den, and Clarke looked hungry. 

***

The ringing clash of steel striking against steel echoed through the courtyard, and to Lexa it was more beautiful than any music. Even just watching others fighting was enough to get her heart pumping quickly and sharpen her senses to their finest point. Her own sword hung heavily at her hip and her palm itched to draw it, to feel the firm grip settle effortlessly in her hold but instead she stayed where she was, simply watching. She leaned against the granite rise that separated the outer walkways from the large open bailey and looked back and forth between the various clusters of people in front of her.  
  
Furthest away from her she found a small group of knights standing with bows in their hands and quivers of arrows being passed back and forth among them. As she watched one of them tipped his head back and let out a loud laugh, the group clearly joking around with each other, before he set his sights on the targets standing yards away. He loosed and then three others followed and Lexa's gaze followed the path of the four arrows, watching them embed themselves in the targets at different points. She was too far away to be able to get much detail, but from their reactions they were all pleased with their aim.  
  
Away from the knights Indra was in the middle of leading a dozen members of the Guard through drills, her sharp eyes always on the lookout for any mistakes. She took them through exercises to help build up their upper body strength and then made them run the interior of the bailey, leading the way. When she'd decided they'd done enough laps she let them stop but only long enough to draw their swords. Calling out two names she had them meet in the middle of the circle the others formed and then they were fighting, swords crashing together as she watched on and barked corrections before calling out the names of the next two to duel. Lexa knew this would continue until they'd each fought, and likely more than once. Indra never let her people walk away from training until they were gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. The queen made sure to join them at least once a week to keep her own skills sharp and body prepared and knew exactly how tired they would all be once they were allowed to stop.  
  
The two people she spent the majority of her time watching were Anya and Aden, working only a few yards in front of her. They both had their training swords drawn and Aden had been trying to disarm the knight for some time now and had yet to have any success. Focus shifting back to them Lexa felt her lips curl up into a grin: Aden's shirt was drenched in sweat and he had hair matted to his forehead while Anya stood almost casually, not a single indication of exertion anywhere in her stance. She knew that knowledge was probably the cause of her brother's small scowl and lightly bit her tongue to hold in a laugh. Aden really hadn't known what he was getting himself into when he said he wanted to be Anya's squire.  
  
“Come on Your Highness, you're not chopping wood,” she heard Anya tease lightly, “you'll have to be smoother than that.” Aden shifted his footing and struck again, the motion this time indeed smoother. Even so Anya easily caught it with her own blade and pushed back, sweeping Aden's attack to the side. He tried to move with the new direction and use their locked swords to his advantage, stepping in quick to try to ram his shoulder into her chest and knock her off balance but she was too fast for the attempt, as Lexa had known she would be. The knight side-stepped the attack and then slammed her fist into his unprotected side and the queen winced, fully aware of how hard Anya's knuckles were. Aden flinched but to his credit didn't let the hit slow him down. Immediately he tried to step back to put a little more space between them again so he could get his bearings straight but apparently Anya had decided to stop playing with her food. She followed him as he tried to go back, her sword striking from one side and then the other and it was all Aden could do to try to keep up with it. He managed to catch the attacks with his blade but only just.  
  
“You'll have to be faster than that, Your Highness,” Anya told him, her breath barely ragged. “Speed can be just as deadly as strength.” As though to prove her point her sword came down in a flurry of attacks until suddenly Aden's sword seemed to somehow just pop from his grip and fly through the air, landing in a cloud of dust on the ground. The point of her sword came to a rest about an inch away from his throat, just resting in the air between them. Lexa heard her brother let out a big sigh before holding up his hands, telling her begrudgingly, “I yield.”  
  
Just like that Anya's sword was hanging again down by her side, her wrist spinning lazily as she stretched it. “You're getting better,” she said, lifting an eyebrow at the prince. “A week ago I would have had you disarmed sooner.”  
  
“You were going easy on me,” he replied, his tone not accusatory but rather matter of fact. She shrugged her shoulders once. “At some point I won't have to.” She lifted her sword arm up, the tip of her training sword now pointing at the queen still watching them. “She had to train with me for years before I could stop going easy on her.”  
  
“And now I go easy on her,” Lexa replied coolly, knowing that Anya would see the glint of mischief she allowed to flit across her expression. At the training yards she could allow herself to be a little more playful than usual, relax a little more than she could at any other time. Here she was dressed just as everyone before her was, in just a comfortable pair of breeches and a simple tunic and for just a second she could almost forget the rank difference between them. “I have to: she's getting a little slow in her old age.”  
  
The words made Anya's eyes narrow and then she was pointing to the training sword still lying in the dirt. “Pick that up, and we'll see who's getting slow. You've spent so much time sitting on your throne and throwing parties lately, I bet it will just take me minutes to beat you.” One corner of Lexa's mouth curled up and then she ducked her head into a small nod, pushing up against the stone she'd been leaning against and making her way into the open bailey. As she walked she unstrapped her real sword from her side, handing it to her brother before she picked up the training sword from the ground. The weapon was blunt but of a good weight, meant to help its user get used to sword work but not injure their opponent. She tested it in her grip for a second to get used to the strange weapon and then raised it in a mock salute. Anya did the same, a small but feral smile forming along her lips and Lexa knew her expression likely matched it. Her heart sang in her chest as she settled into position, her body knowing exactly what it was supposed to do after years of training.  
  
Anya sprang forward first, her strike like an angry snake. Lexa caught her blade with her own, the force of her friend's blow enough to cause the sword to vibrate in her hand. She used the strength she'd built up in her shoulders and arms to push Anya and the blade back, stepping into the push to begin her own attack. Hers came from the right, a high strike that would have caught in the crook of Anya's neck if she hadn't stopped it, but as she'd expected she did and then it was Anya pushing her blade away.  
  
They traded blows for long minutes, the scraping of their swords and soft thudding of their boots on the dirt the only sounds they made. When she had been young Lexa had hated the sharp scratching sound swords made when they came in contact with each other but now it just made her adrenaline rush all the greater. Her father had started training her when she'd barely been big enough to lift a sword, and then Anya had continued the training after he died. Her sword was her most prized possession, a gift the older woman had given her on her eighteenth birthday, and she kept it with her as often as possible.  
  
Lexa stepped to the side to avoid an attack and immediately knew she'd fallen into some trap Anya had been laying by the way her lips curled up into a proud smirk. The knight lifted her sword but this time not in an attack, and Lexa swore out loud as she slammed her eyes shut, the afternoon sun glinting off Anya's blade and blinding her. Her opponent had been slowly getting her into this position so she could have this upper hand and the queen hadn't seen it coming. Silently she called herself an idiot and opened her eyes again, keeping them in a squint so as not to get blinded again. Only her fast reflexes helped her dodge Anya's new attack, the knight using her advantage to close the distance between them while Lexa's eyes were shut. The queen's sword caught Anya's on her downward sweep and the muscles in her arms screamed their protest.  
  
“You walked right into that one, Your Majesty,” Anya teased and Lexa grit her teeth, knowing it was true. She didn't say anything though, just stole herself before heaving against her blade and pushing the other woman back as hard as she could. Someone else might have lost their footing from the push but Anya merely stepped quickly away.  
  
Now Lexa could feel sweat beading along the side of her face. Her shirt felt a little damp, not soaked through like Aden's had been but certainly not entirely dry anymore. Luckily for her Anya looked to be in about the same state, her lips now parted slightly as her chest heaved from exertion. Their battle was coming to an end and they both knew it, it was now all a matter of waiting to see who made the first mistake.  
  
Lexa was about to attack again, hoping she could get under Anya's sword and past her defense long enough to disarm her, when her opponent's posture entirely changed. Her dark eyes shifted momentarily to look over the queen's shoulder and then she stood up straight, letting her sword drop to her side, the sparring match apparently over without any winner. Lexa frowned knowing her friend wouldn't often just give up like that and turned to see what had caught her attention. Seeing who now stood where she'd been earlier she let out an internal sigh before also straightening up, her shoulders settling back into place.  
  
“Titus,” she greeted, making sure to keep any trace of her disappointment out of her voice. If he was here it meant there were queenly duties she had to attend to; she was done sparring for the day.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he said with his usual bow, head lowering as he bent over from the waist. “The doors will be opening in an hour to admit the week's audiences,” he informed her. “Also, your aunt's delegation has just arrived. She is expecting you to greet her before they get settled into their rooms. I've had the servants begin to take their bags but she's waiting for you in the Great Hall.”  
  
Lexa just managed to hold in a wince. She'd been dreading her aunt's arrival and here it had come at the worst possible time. Her clothing at the moment was comfortable and great for sparring but would surely not impress the older noblewoman. Neither would she like it if Lexa kept her waiting while she changed into the more formal clothes she would wear while sitting in for the audiences. Once a week the doors to to the palace were opened and commoners were granted an audience with her to tell her their troubles and solve their problems. Some days it was interesting and others she was nothing but bored sitting up on her throne and listening to people prattle on about their problems but she always tried to give them her undivided attention. Now however her aunt would expect that attention equally undivided, and wouldn't be happy to hear she wouldn't be getting it for more than a few minutes.  
  
_Well she's already going to be unhappy_ , she thought, keeping those thoughts from her expression, _Nothing I can do about that now_.  
  
“Tell my aunt I will be right with her,” she told Titus. As she spoke Aden moved over to her, handing her sword back and she traded it with the training weapon she still held. Nodding her thanks to him, she continued, “I must change for the audiences and then I will see her.”  
  
Making her wait would anger her, but it would be better than having her stare down her nose at Lexa's clothing. Besides, it never hurt to remind her aunt who the queen was in their family.  
  
Duchess Nia Glace had been the king's younger sister, but she acted as though she thought she should have been born first. A haughty woman full of her own self-worth, she had never been particularly close with her niece. When her father died Nia had even tried to take the crown, claiming a nation shouldn't be run by a child. She'd said she would only act as the stand-in queen until Lexa was of an age to be able to do her duty, but Lexa had no doubt that if Nia had gotten her hands on the crown she would have found some way to keep it. It was only Titus's quick thinking and faster acting that had prevented that from happening, having the eleven-year-old's coronation only days after news of her father's death had reached Polis and not giving the older woman time to make her claim. Though her aunt never said anything about it, Lexa knew she silently raged over her missed opportunity.  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” Titus replied, bowing again and the queen thought maybe she saw a hint of approval at the corners of his mouth. The adviser was always so serious it was hard to tell sometimes, but she thought maybe he liked the idea of keeping the duchess waiting. He turned and left then, most likely to follow through with her orders and Lexa sighed as she strapped her sword back to her waist. Glancing over out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Aden and told him, “You'd better change too, Aden. Aunt Nia will expect to see you as well.” She could see him holding in a sigh but he just nodded before thanking Anya and heading out of the courtyard.  
  
As Lexa finished strapping her sword to her waist, one of the guards broke away from Indra's group, the rest of them all seeming to just be standing around now. Indra must have been giving them a break or they were done for the day, so Lexa didn't think anything of it as Lincoln Birch, the Second in Command, made his way over to her. He was a tall man with dark skin, a shaved head and some very impressively muscled arms. He would look intimidating if not for his kind eyes and the smile often tucked away at the corners of his mouth. Between the Guards' Captain and her Second, physically Lincoln was more intimidating but Lexa doubted there was a single member of the Guard who wouldn't call Indra the more terrifying of the two. At the moment she could see Lincoln's smile in the little curl of his lips as he held out a water skin to her.  
  
“Impressive foot work as always, Your Majesty,” he told her as she accepted the skin with a thankful nod, “I think you would have had her if Titus hadn't interrupted.”  
  
“Traitor,” Anya called jokingly as another guard approached her with his own water skin. “When she leaves you can take her place and I'll knock you on _your_ ass.”  
  
“I know better than to spar with you,” he replied, looking so serious Lexa knew it was a joke. Besides Indra he was the member of the Guard she knew the most and had learned how to read his expressions and tone of voice. She also knew how well he fought, and wouldn't immediately call him out in a duel against her best friend. After all, there was a reason he was Indra's Second.  
  
As Anya tried to antagonize the big man into drawing his sword against her, Lexa tuned them out. She knew she was just putting off seeing her aunt but she allowed herself to take a few precious seconds to swallow a couple long gulps of water, only now realizing how thirsty she was. Even a match against Anya without a true end took a lot out of her. While she drank she let herself observe those around her, quietly eavesdropping on what conversations she could hear. She tuned out Lincoln and her friend, instead listening to three members of the Guard standing only a short ways away.  
  
“So the duchess is here now,” one of them was saying, a young man she recognized named Glen. “Think her son'll get into the fight over the whore?”  
  
The question made Lexa's calm expression furrow briefly into a glare before she could stop it, both at the term and at the idea of her cousin with Clarke. Since their second dance and the younger woman's concerning comparison between them Clarke had been to every party, but no longer just with Finn. Lexa had seen her on the arm with no less than three younger sons, each one's ego bigger than the last. It irked her knowing what would be happening later those nights but she no longer kept her distance from the dark-haired woman. Clarke was too interesting, made her think about things in ways no one ever had before, to keep her distance from. Now she made sure to speak with her for a few minutes at each party, and they were always her favorite moments. Titus hated it and she caught some of the other nobles giving her strange looks whenever she walked away from those conversations, but as far as she was concerned they were worth it.  
  
“... Hell, wish I could hire her for a night,” another of the Guards was saying when Lexa tuned back into their conversation and she allowed herself to glance over to them for a second. The speaker was a man named Tristan, and she didn't like the smirk he was giving his friends. “You see her with those nobles acting like one of them but you know as soon as her back hits the mattress she probably turns into the dirtiest common whore you can find. No wonder Finn and those others keep fighting over her. Imagine how she falls apart when they rip those dresses off her...”  
  
If Lexa had cared to, she could have warned him but at the moment a tiny ball of rage had settled in her chest and she felt spiteful so she remained quiet. He and his friends were too focused on their conversation to notice Indra approaching from behind them, and Lexa watched in satisfaction as she surprised them all. Her right foot shot out in a hook the queen couldn't help but be a little envious of, tangling around Tristan's ankles and with a hard shove she sent him sprawling to the ground. Before the tall man could even attempt at pushing himself up her boot pressed against the middle of his back, and from the way he winced Lexa guessed Indra used a good portion of her weight behind it.  
  
“ _My_ Guards couldn't give a rat's ass about what nobles are doing with whores at a party they're supposed to be working,” she snapped, her heel obviously digging into the small of his back. The glare she shot at the back of his head was enough to make the hardest fighter wet his breeches, and Lexa wasn't surprised to see Tristan's companions take a step away from him. “I could care less if a distraction got you killed but if anything happened to Her Majesty because you were busy fawning over a pretty girl I'd have you skinned alive. Now get up: time for me to test you on your swordsmanship personally.” Her foot finally removed itself from his back and Tristan pulled himself up, his face red with embarrassment. Lexa had no doubt in a minute he'd be even more embarrassed and wished she could stay and watch. As it was she had already wasted enough time and if she didn't want to have to sit through a lecture from her aunt _and_ Titus she knew she needed to go.  
  
Handing Lincoln back his water skin she thanked him, nodded to Anya, and then left the courtyard at a slight jog. It wasn't exactly the most queenly way to get around, but at the moment she knew she needed to worry more about the time than appearances. Everyone she passed as she made her way through the palace seemed to understand that, everyone just quickly nodding or bowing to her and getting out of her way.  
  
Once in her room she quickly stripped out of her breeches and tunic, trying to decide the best thing to change into. Her aunt would probably expect a gown but getting into any of her dresses was a job in itself and required help she would have to call for. Deciding against it instead she pulled on one of her nicest pair of hose and then a long silk tunic that hung nearly to her knees. The tunic was a dark forest green trimmed in a deep bronze, the colors of her house. She buckled her sword around her waist over it and then carefully smoothed out the material, making sure not a single wrinkle could be seen. Her hair was loose behind her back, little braids woven throughout it, and while it was a little wild after her bout with Anya it would have to do. Taking a deep breath as her spine naturally piled one vertebrae on top of the other and her shoulders shifted back, she let her title wash over her. With her head held high she exited her room, every inch of her Queen Alexandria Woods of the Kongeda.  
  
Queen Alexandria is exactly what Duchess Nia Glace saw as she entered the Great Hall, and though she couldn't see it Lexa could sense her aunt's annoyance. She curtsied as Lexa approached, not a single centimeter more than was appropriate, and those around her did the same. Her son, Duke Roan Glace, bowed regally beside her, the ends of his long hair brushing against his shoulders from the movement. Aden was already with them now dressed similarly to Lexa, and though he bowed too she thought she saw him trying to hide a grin.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Nia greeted, her tone cool and controlled, “so good of you to greet us.”  
  
“Of course Aunt,” Lexa replied in a matching tone, “You're my guests and family, how could I do anything else?” When Nia stood up from her curtsy she turned her head just a fraction, and Lexa knew what she was waiting for. Quickly she stepped forward, dropping a light kiss to first one of the duchess's cheeks and then the other. Finishing she turned to Roan as she stepped back, saying simply, “Cousin.”  
  
“Your Majesty,” he said, “it's good to see you well. It's been a while since the Royal Battle.”  
  
She almost flinched but just managed to hold it in; he spoke of the last battle she'd fought in during the war. For almost a year after bringing her people together and declaring war on the Reapers she'd managed to be in the thick of everything, helping her generals strategize and shift their troops around. She even managed to get a little fighting in though seldom in the thick of the war. The Royal Battle had been an accident, a time where she and two squads of soldiers had been ambushed by the enemy, each of them having to fight heavily for their lives. A company finally came to their rescue but only after she'd lost eight men, and none of the original two squads walked away uninjured including herself. After that the generals and Titus had all but ordered her back to the safety of Polis, an order she knew she had to follow despite how much she hated it. Their nation needed its queen, Titus had lectured her; soldiers, knights, even generals could be replaced but she could not. With her arm in a sling she'd returned to the capitol, inwardly fuming that she had started a war she wouldn't be allowed to finish. Every moment good men and women were dying in her fight, and all she could do was sit back and listen to the reports.  
  
Roan, unlike her, fought for the duration of the war. He was one of the first knights to volunteer for it, fought in a number of battles, and had even been a part of the company who had saved her. He was for all intents and purposes a war hero, the war hero Lexa had wanted to be, and the knowledge he had been able to fight while she had to sit back and wait for news chafed at her pride.  
  
She didn't let any of that show though, simply held out her arm for him to clasp. “It has been; it's good to see you well also. I hope you were able to rest up some before your trip to our capitol.” He nodded, but his mother spoke for him. “Roan doesn't tire easily. He's always been the strong one in the family.”  
  
Lexa pretended not to notice the subtle dig as she stepped back, keeping a carefully even expression on her face. She heard people moving around behind her, no doubt getting the hall ready to admit the audiences, and smiled politely at her aunt.  
  
“Aunt Nia, Cousin, I'm afraid I can't talk much longer but Aden and I would be honored if you would join us for dinner tonight. We can catch up then.” Nia's lips pursed, clearly unhappy at being dismissed. “But Alexandria, we just got here. I'm sure you can spare your family a little more of your time.” She tried to keep her tone light and even but Lexa could hear the bite to her words, and very much noticed how she was addressed.  
  
Nevertheless she didn't let Nia's tone get to her, simply nodded her head in an apologetic bow, exactly the kind of motion a queen might give to a subordinate.  
  
“I'm sorry Aunt, but unfortunately you arrived just before I grant audiences to the people of Polis,” she informed her, her voice actually managing to sound apologetic but serious at the same time. “These people have been waiting hours if not days to speak with me; why don't you rest, and we can talk tonight? I'm sure you're tired after your travels.”  
  
A little flash of anger passed briefly across the duchess's face but then it was gone as quickly as it appeared and an easy smile had replaced it. “I think we'll attend the audiences, actually,” she decided, putting her hand on her son's shoulder. “I imagine some of your other noble guests will be there as well, so it will give us a chance to get reacquainted.”  
  
As if she'd somehow summoned them, Lord Costa and his two sons walked in at that moment, and Lexa could see others approaching from down the hall.  
  
“Of course,” she just said, giving her aunt a polite nod. “Now if you'll excuse me.” Rather than say anything they both just nodded in return and then Lexa was making her way around them and moving towards the throne sitting up the steps on the other side of the room. Aden fell into step beside her, likely to take his spot in the smaller throne just behind and to the left of hers. He waited until they were making their way up the steps to say quietly, “Bet you wish you could be back out in the courtyard fighting Anya. You look like you could let off some steam.” To anyone else she knew she appeared completely calm, unmoved, but her brother knew her better than anyone other than maybe Anya and Titus. She waited until she reached the top of the stairs, her throne just in front of her before she let her hand drop casually to the pommel of her sword. “You have no idea,” she admitted in almost an inaudible murmur before turning and regally sitting just as yet more nobles came streaming into the room.  
  
Time to put on a show.


	5. Chapter Five

“Maybe in the fall you could visit Stone Hall,” Ryder Mason, eldest son of the Lord and Lady of the Boudalan Mountains, suggested. “There's nothing quite like the changing of the seasons in the east.”  
  
“Agreed,” Myers Collins, Lord Emerys's eldest son agreed before lifting an eyebrow. “But if you're coming to the east, you really should visit the Glowing Forest instead, Your Majesty; the colors of the trees are like nothing you've ever seen before.” Illen, less than a year younger than his brother, nodded in agreement.  
  
Lexa felt surrounded but didn't let it show. Instead she nodded politely, telling them all smoothly, “It was towards the end of fall the last time I visited your houses: I remember all of your lands being beautiful.”  
  
Apparently some of the older sons had gotten tired of her seeking them out and had decided to come to her now instead. She wondered if their parents or Titus had anything to do with it, but she hid her unhappiness behind polite smiles and her wine glass. The servants seemed to have realized they should never let it empty, as every time in the past two hours she'd taken the last sip from the crystal someone with a tray had made their way over to her, bowing and offering a new drink. She always accepted, sure she wouldn't be able to get through this evening without it. Soon she would have to stop or at least seriously slow down or risk losing her iron-clad control of her tongue, but for now the wine kept her going.  
  
The three sons were not the only ones with her at the moment. Penn Summers, the first son of Lord Costa Summers of the Ingrona Plains, stood with them, as well as Sterling Reed, the first born of a lesser lord from the Great Lakes. Rounding off the group was Cage Wallace, the only child of Lord Dante Wallace. He stood a little more easily than the others, watching them politely fight for her attention with badly concealed contempt. It was clear to the queen he thought he was somehow above it all, and yet here he was, surrounding her just like the other five noble sons.  
  
Never in her life had Lexa wanted to run and hide away, but at this moment she would have given just about anything to be able to do just that.  
  
“Excuse me,” she tried, breaking through the debate Myers and Ryder were currently having over whether the mountains or deep forests were more beautiful in the fall, “but I haven't eaten yet and I see some roast duck the servants just brought out that is making my mouth water.” She began to step around Illen, the one most directly in her path to the tables, but he turned as she did, saying, “That sounds delicious, I think I'll join you.” The others were all quick to agree and Lexa found herself leading their group over to the food, trying her best to hide her annoyance. As she went she looked around, trying to find another way out, and found Anya just a short ways away, watching her. Her lips were curled into a sly smirk, obviously amused by Lexa's pain, and the queen had to fight against every fiber of her being to keep herself from sticking her tongue out at her.  
  
Their conversations continued after they'd each helped themselves to something from the tables and Lexa tried to pay attention to what was being said but instead found herself studying each of the young men. Sterling was the youngest of them, not even eighteen yet, and the queen thought it strange he believed he would even have a chance at her hand considering he came from a lesser house. Ryder stood at least half a foot taller than her and was built as though he'd spent every day of his life climbing the mountains he so easily talked about. Like their younger brother, Myers and Illen had brown floppy hair, though Myers's was long enough to pull back into a ponytail and Illen wore his slicked back. Penn stood almost as tall as Ryder but wasn't built quite as strong, his muscles more subtle than the other man's. Cage was smaller, almost more delicate than Penn or Ryder but he constantly wore a smirk that exuded a confidence in himself that could match up against anyone in the room.  
  
Each had their own good looks and charm, but all of it was wasted on the queen. She could care less about their muscles or boastful grins or what their hair looked like; all she wanted was to get away from them. Lexa scanned the room around them, looking for any kind of distraction and found it in the last person she would have expected.  
  
“Lord Myers, Lord Illen,” she began, interrupting an argument between the younger brother and Penn. They all went quiet and looked to her as she gestured to a figure at the other end of the tables. “Is your brother upset about something?” It certainly looked it: Finn had his head down, glaring into a plate of food and even with the distance between them Lexa thought she saw the outline of white knuckles from how tightly he held his goblet.  
  
Myers shook his head while Illen scoffed, the two glancing over to their younger brother. “It's nothing to worry about, Your Majesty,” Illen told her, rolling his eyes at the younger lord. “He's just mad Clarke isn't here with him tonight.”  
  
“She hasn't been to one of these with him for the past couple weeks,” Myers added, smirking. “I guess she's gotten popular with his peers.”  
  
Penn's brow furrowed before he shook his head. “It isn't right,” he began, “bringing a woman like her to a place like this. A party like this is not meant for someone of her status.”  
  
Lexa looked down into her wine, hiding her irritation at the words so he and the others wouldn't see them. A number of remarks came to mind but she bit her tongue to hold them all back. She could get away with talking with Clarke and treating her like the guest she was but she wasn't entirely sure she could as easily get away with defending her among the higher ranking nobles. Many of them still made it clear they thought her presence a slight to themselves and to her even as their siblings or younger sons and daughters seemed to flock around her. Clarke had a natural way of drawing people to her even if they weren't paying her, and Lexa couldn't help but envy it. In the same vein though her profession also pushed others away, and the queen had watched her walk that thin line of idolization and repulsion, nothing but impressed with the way she handled herself.  
  
“'Someone of her status,'” Cage repeated mockingly as he took a drink from his own wine glass. “You can call her what she is, Penn.” He gestured to Myers and Illen, continuing, “ _Sir_ Finn brought a whore into the palace and now we just can't seem to get rid of her. Though it's pretty clear she's moved on from your little brother and onto a far more amusing customer.”  
  
Lexa bristled at his tone and gripped her wine glass tighter, fighting the urge to reach for the nearest knife and plunge it into his neck. The last bit piqued her interest though despite herself. So far that night she'd only seen Clarke in passing, each too busy being surrounded by likely suitors, and the few times Lexa had looked over at her it hadn't been clear which young lord she was with. Since she'd had a different escort the last few weeks it was hard to guess who it might be, not that she particularly cared which lucky lord's bed she would fall into later that night – or at least she told herself she didn't.  
  
As though to prove a point Cage nodded towards one corner of the room and despite herself Lexa followed the motion, looking past people standing between them and another group until she noticed familiar dark hair. Tonight Clarke's gown was a deep green that made the queen bite the inside of her cheek and her hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders. Lexa could see she wore the same silver necklace she'd had the first night they met, the small blue pendant drawing attention as always to a neckline the queen tried not to focus on. Four young men hung around her as did three young women, and for a second Lexa watched to see which of the men would close the space between them to rest a hand on her back or slip her arm through his. None of them did however, and Lexa frowned when instead one of the young women moved over, grinning as Clarke laughed lightly at something she'd said. The dark-haired woman reached out, lightly wrapping her arms around the other woman's, and Lexa couldn't quite understand what she was seeing.  
  
“Hm,” Penn huffed disapprovingly, “Now she's not just corrupting the young lords but the ladies too.”  
  
“Please,” Cage said with a laugh, “ _she_ barely qualifies as a lady.”  
  
“Excuse me,” Lexa stated, putting her plate down on the table behind her, having only picked at her food. Myers and Illen made as though to follow her again but this time she gave them a small scowl, the look all they needed to know their company was no longer welcome. At the look they all stepped back and Lexa finally felt like she could breathe again as she left them behind. She didn't care if Titus or their parents would disapprove of her leaving their company for the company she sought, she couldn't take being around them for a second longer.  
  
Clarke was the first of her group to notice her approach, and Lexa's heart skipped a beat when the other woman automatically smiled upon seeing her. She dipped into a perfect curtsy in a motion so fluid even the queen wasn't sure she would have been able to pull it off, her eyes only leaving Lexa's for a brief moment before they met again.  
  
“Your Majesty,” she greeted, and the rest of the group fell into bows or curtsies just a beat behind her. “I was hoping you would make your way over to us soon.”  
  
“Of course,” Lexa replied, returning her smile with one of her own, and she was no longer surprised to find that the smile came so much more naturally than usual. “You know I like to greet all my guests.” Forcefully she tore her eyes away from Clarke long enough to nod to the rest of the group around her.  
  
“You're too kind, Your Majesty,” the second daughter to a lesser lord of the Shallow Valleys told her, dipping her head. “You honor us,” the son of one of Lord Emerys's bannermen added.  
  
She nodded to them in response but looked back at Clarke, noticing how close she still stood to Monroe. Something about their proximity with each other tugged at something inside her and before she entirely knew what she was doing she was asking the younger woman, “Can I get you a drink, Mistress Blake?” She noticed the corners of her lips quirk up, clearly about to say something but Lexa guessed what it was and corrected herself before she could. “I'm sorry, Clarke.” Her tongue clicked on the -k, over pronouncing it a bit, but she found that she liked how it sounded.  
  
Clarke's smile grew and her brow lifted for a split second, as though she understood what Lexa was doing. “I would love one, Your Majesty,” she answered and then turned, reaching out and lightly touching Monroe's arm. “I'll be right back, my lady.” To Lexa's utter shock she then stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to the other woman's cheek before pulling away. For her part Monroe just smiled, telling her, “I'll be here.” Clarke returned her smile and then turned back to Lexa, lifting her eyebrows again and the queen reined in her shock so she could lead them away from the group.  
  
“You're with-” she began as they walked away, keeping her voice down just enough to not draw any more attention to them as they made their way over to the side of the room where a servant held a tray full of glasses. “I mean, you're Lady Monroe's guest tonight?”  
  
“I am,” Clarke confirmed with an easy nod and then thanked the man holding the tray as she took one of the glasses. Raising it up, she looked down at the dark red liquid and then up at the queen through her eyelashes. “Is that a problem?”  
  
“No,” Lexa replied maybe a little too quickly. She grit her jaw, trying to get a hold of herself. She didn't know why the knowledge of Clarke with another woman made her feel so jittery and decided to chalk it up to too many glasses of wine. “It just surprised me, is all.”  
  
“I have quite a few women who enjoy my company,” the dark-haired woman informed her, taking a long sip of the wine. “Monroe is certainly not the first.”  
  
For some reason whenever the queen had pictured Clarke with someone – not that she'd pictured her _with_ someone – the someone had always been male. She supposed it made sense that someone in her profession would have companions of the same sex, but she had just never considered it before. In reality Lexa knew there were many women who enjoyed other women's company just as there were many men who enjoyed other men's, but it wasn't something she often thought about. Such a thing wasn't as common among the nobility where bloodlines must be passed on and heirs birthed. She almost envied Clarke her freedom but then immediately pushed that thought away; despite Clarke's shocking comparison between the two of them, she knew she had far more freedom than the younger woman.  
  
Even so she found herself asking, “Do you enjoy it?” She internally flinched, worried about how that would sound, and rephrased the question. “Is it very different, I mean? Having to share your company with a woman rather than a man?”  
  
She noticed Clarke looking at her curiously and made sure not to let anything other than mild curiosity show on her expression, and then the other woman appeared to be thinking about it, weighing her answer as she so often did. “To answer your first question, yes I enjoy it,” she replied after a moment. “I enjoy my time with men too, but yes, it is different.”  
  
“How so?” Lexa wanted to know and almost blushed from the look Clarke gave her, the other woman's lips curling up into a small grin. “Well there's the physical differences, obviously, but emotionally it's different as well.” The grin fell away and again she seemed to be thinking the answer over before she gave it. “Typically a man will pay for a whore so he can boost his ego or it's purely physical. When a woman buys our services usually there's more to it than that. They need someone to hold or to hold them, or simply to be there so they can be reminded they aren't alone.” She shrugged then, one corner of her mouth tugging back up. “Though of course, there are always those women who are simply looking for the physical rush a whore gives them the same as any man.”  
  
Lexa raised her eyebrows and then glanced back over to where Clarke's group still stood, someone else having to entertain them now that the red-haired woman was gone. “And what kind of woman is Lady Monroe?” She shouldn't ask – she shouldn't _care_ – but the question was out and now she couldn't pull it back in. She stood easily, trying to act like she didn't care, and wondered if Clarke bought it at all. For some reason she doubted she did.  
  
Luckily the question made Clarke laugh. “Lady Monroe is the kind of woman who has fun reminding men that women are easily their equals and putting them in their place. Why else would she be a famed knight at only nineteen?”  
  
It made sense: Monroe had fought fiercely in the war, certainly managing to make a name for herself. Coming from a family that just teetered on the edge of nobility, that meant something. Clarke took another sip from her wine and then added, “I believe she hired me tonight simply to remind the young men here that they can't always have what they want.”  
  
That made Lexa crack a smile. “If that's the case, then I think her point was well received. It looks like many young men are jealous it isn't their arm you're on tonight. Sir Finn looks particularly disheartened.”  
  
Clarke just shrugged, apparently uncaring towards any of the young men's woes. “Finn will move past it, just like the rest of them.” The queen gave her a look, tilting her head slightly to the side before saying hesitantly, “It seems as though he has grown very... fond of you. Maybe even fallen for you a little.” The younger woman let out a slight scoff, the sound almost getting stuck in her chest. “Only a fool falls in love with a whore, Your Majesty. Finn may be a little naïve but I don't think he's a fool.”  
  
_By that definition he might be_ , Lexa thought but didn't say. Instead she just nodded and then stepped back over to the servant with the tray of glasses still standing nearby, more needing something to do with her hands than needing a drink. Standing so close to Clarke without the two dancing together made her want to reach out, to tuck the loose curl of hair hanging at the side of her face behind her ear, so instead she let her fingers wrap around the stem of the glass.  
  
“What about you, Your Majesty?” she asked suddenly and Lexa looked up, brow lifting in a silent question. Clarke nodded towards the other side of the room where Myers and Illen now stood talking with a few others. “I noticed you were getting quite the interesting attention earlier; see anything you like?”  
  
The question was highly inappropriate, especially coming from someone so far beneath her standing, but Lexa found she didn't mind. Talking to Clarke still felt easy, perhaps a little too easy, and she found herself answering despite the inappropriateness.  
  
“The lords I was talking with are all very nice men,” she answered carefully. “All who come from very nice families.”  
  
“That's good Your Majesty, but not what I asked,” Clarke replied, once again eyeing her over her wine glass and Lexa suddenly felt as though she were being stripped naked before her. “Finn's told me a little about his brothers so I know they're nice, but nice isn't always interesting.”  
  
Lexa stared into her wine glass, knowing what she should say. She _should_ say how handsome they all were, how Penn had a nice jawline and Ryder had impressive muscles and the others had such nice hair; she'd heard countless other women talk about such things on the men they found attractive, but the words wouldn't come out. Sure, all that information was true but it meant nothing to Lexa, didn't _interest_ her as Clarke was looking for.  
  
After a long moment of silence, the other woman's words in the air between them and Lexa unable to think of anything to say, Clarke seemed to take pity on her. Her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding, an understanding Lexa didn't want her to have since she didn't even have it herself, and she stared over her glass as though she were no longer seeing anything. “You know what I love most about women?” she asked suddenly, and Lexa couldn't help but glance over at her. Clarke didn't look over to meet her eyes, instead kept staring in front of her and said, “Just how very opposite from men they are. Men are usually hard on the outside and then soft on the inside. I mean, have you ever had to deal with something as fragile as a man's ego?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, and Lexa cracked a smile. “But women, they're the other way around. Women are soft on the outside but hard on the inside. There's nothing like touching a woman and then learning about all the battles she's fought, the hardships she's overcome. There's a special kind of beauty to a woman's strength, don't you think?”  
  
“Yes,” Lexa agreed quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper, “it is beautiful. A beautiful thing.” Only then did Clarke finally break off her stare and glance over, meeting the queen's eyes. For a moment they shared a look, a silent understanding passing between them and Lexa felt a new kind of warmth flood her chest. It filled her more quickly than any wine ever had, and she worried it might be far more addictive than any wine ever could be.  
  
“Alexandria,” a voice suddenly snapped sharply, breaking through the silence that had spread between them and Lexa almost jumped before she flinched. Making sure she wore her best neutral expression she turned, lifting an eyebrow to her aunt.  
  
“Aunt Nia,” she greeted evenly and then gestured towards Clarke. “Duchess Nia Glace of the Ice Nation, may I introduce you to Mistress Clarke Blake?”  
  
“No you may not,” Nia snapped, her cold eyes flashing before she looked down her nose at the dark-haired woman. “You should know better than to be associating with the likes of her.” She spat out the last word as though Clarke were a filthy rag she didn't want to go near and Lexa felt a spike of rage shoot through her.  
  
For her part though, Clarke didn't seem to be at all offended. She simply curtsied once again, the motion as perfect as ever, and lowered her head just the perfect amount to be respectful but not cowed. “Your Majesty,” she just said, directing her words to Lexa, “I should really be getting back to my companions. Thank you again for your generosity with your time; I don't deserve it.” She then turned that perfect curtsy on Nia, adding respectfully, “Your Grace.” Without waiting for either of them to dismiss her she stood back up and turned, making her way calmly back towards her group.  
  
“That was rude,” Lexa murmured dangerously after Clarke had walked away, just managing to hold her temper in check. Her aunt ate away at her patience on the best of days, but after what had just transpired she managed to hold onto some semblance of her manners by only her fingertips.  
  
“That was shameful,” her aunt corrected her in almost the same tone, her eyes still bright with anger. “What are you doing speaking with someone like her? She shouldn't even be here! It's a dishonor to all your guests that she's even allowed through the doors!”  
  
“She herself _is_ a guest,” Lexa informed her, trying desperately hard to keep her voice down so they wouldn't cause a scene. As it was enough people were watching them, likely reading their expressions and body language and knowing that this wasn't a friendly encounter. “Just because she doesn't have the same titles as everyone else here doesn't mean I should just dismiss her.”  
  
“She is a _whore_ ,” Nia growled through clenched teeth. “You are a _queen_ ; act like it.”  
  
Lexa grit her teeth so hard her gums ached and then raised her head, her chin sticking out stubbornly as she looked down her nose at her aunt. “You're right,” she said, her tone even but no less hard, “ _I_ am the queen. Now excuse me _Your Grace_ , I have more guests to speak with.” She walked away, no doubt leaving her aunt fuming behind her. 

***

The younger lords and ladies flocked back around Clarke the moment she fell back into the circle, various pairs of eyes constantly shifting towards her, flicking across her face and down to her chest and then back up again. She ignored it and just smiled sweetly as the young lords told stories to impress her and the young ladies hung off their every word, laughing lightly when there was nothing funny or exclaiming when they thought it necessary to build up the story. Every now and then she would notice one or more of the ladies shift, clearly trying to hold themselves as she did and she almost shook her head every time. Maybe they thought her exotic, thought her life far more fun than the lessons they had to have in their fiefs or maybe they were just jealous of the attention so many of the young lords gave her; she didn't know and she didn't care, thinking it foolish any of them wanted to be anything like her. If they knew the truth, knew of everything she'd gone through to become the woman they saw standing in front of them, they'd run back to their homes and never leave as she often wished she could do.  
  
Lady Monroe was different from them though, and Clarke had known she would like her after only a few minutes in her company. She'd actually met her at The Rig, something none of the men who had hired her for these parties had done, already smiling a lop-sided smile before they'd even walked away. Conversation flowed easily between them, Monroe actually having some interesting things to say and not solely trying to talk herself up with every chance she got. She'd already told Clarke a few stories about the war and the battles she'd fought, as well as taught her a couple of the songs the soldiers had sung around the fire late at night in their camps. In return she'd taught Monroe some of the bawdier tavern songs she knew, and by the time they'd reached the palace they'd both been laughing. The stories and conversation hadn't ended once they were inside, though they were interrupted often by others' stories. Now when a young nobleman tried to impress the women around him with some gallant tale the two would make eye contact, expressions barely changing except for a slight quirk at the corners of their mouths. Monroe seemed happy to play that game as well, always matching the young man with a story of her own, and Clarke was all at once amused and impressed by her stories and how the men around them deflated a little every time she told one.  
  
Those stories continued as the evening progressed, other young men and a few women coming and going from their group and Clarke made sure to always play her part. She flirted lightly with the men, batting her eyelashes and giving them sly smiles but always pressed against Monroe, either by way of holding her arm or touching her shoulder. As a whore she had to find that fine balance of always trying to entice and obtain new customers while giving her attention to the person paying her at the time. Monroe was easy to work with, entirely fine with her flirting, and Clarke wished that every customer could be so easy. With most of them she had to be careful not to flirt too much or risk upsetting them or making them jealous. Across the room she could see just how jealous Finn was, and he wasn't even her responsibility for the night. She thought maybe it was a good thing that others had started purchasing her services so she could easily break it off with him. He'd clearly gotten attached, and that was the last thing she needed to deal with.  
  
After a while Clarke noticed Monroe eyeing the cakes and pies that had just been brought out from the kitchens, beautiful creations that looked as amazing as she knew they would taste. Letting her lips curl up into an easy smile she reached over, pressing her fingers lightly to her wrist.  
  
“Why don't I go get us a plate of those lovely desserts, my lady? Is there one you'd prefer?” Monroe returned her smile with a grin, telling her, “You don't have to do that Clarke, I can get it.” The dark-haired woman batted her eyelashes, making a show of flirting with her. “I insist, my lady.”  
  
“Okay, sure,” she agreed with a shrug and then looked over the table again. “It all looks great, so anything will be good.” Clarke gave her a little nod and then looked over their group, eyeing them from beneath her eyelashes. “Don't tell anything too entertaining while I'm gone.” A couple of them laughed while the others assured her they wouldn't and then she pealed away from the group and made her way over to the tables. There she grabbed a plate and helped herself to a slice of some sort of berry pie and a piece of white cake decorated beautifully with spun frosting. She had to hand it to the queen, she employed some very talented cooks.  
  
She was making her way back to her group when a bit of conversation caught her attention, and before she knew it she'd stopped to listen in.  
  
“...will think better of it after I raise the taxes on them!” Lord Quint, one of the lesser lords of the Trikru was busy saying. He stood with Lord Costa of the Ingrona Plains, the Lord Thames and Lady Julia of the Shallow Valleys and Lord Dante of Mount Weather. Costa and Thames were busy nodding their heads as he continued while the other two listened on politely. “They need to remember who they owe their loyalty to. Being stingy on their crops won't get them so far when I come in and decide to take what they owe instead of buying it and then make _them_ pay _me_. Remind them who holds the power.”  
  
Normally Clarke kept her distance from the older nobility, especially those of higher standing like Thames, Costa and Dante. Quint's words made it impossible for her to just walk away though, a fire igniting in her chest and making her pulse pick up. It was almost a welcome feeling, this genuine reaction a relief after so many weeks of doing nothing but putting on shows, and it grew inside her until it began to trickle down her limbs. The anger settled firmly in her gut when she heard Thames agree, “Commoners forget they're nothing without us. Too stupid to govern themselves, too busy fighting amongst themselves to build anything that would last; without us they would fall apart. I say whip them back into shape however is necessary.”  
  
“Excuse me my lords,” Clarke called out, stepping towards their group. They all turned to her, each clearly surprised to see her there though some of them got over it quicker than others. She thought she even saw Dante flash her a small, brief smile, but she couldn't focus on it, too busy looking back and forth between Quint and Thames. “I couldn't help overhearing. Did I understand you correctly? You think commoners are nothing without their lords?”  
  
Quint and Thames looked down their noses at her, clearly unimpressed with her choice to speak to them directly. Lady Julia went so far as to grimace, hiding her face behind her wine glass and doing her very best to pretend Clarke wasn't there. Costa lifted an eyebrow, his expression otherwise unreadable, and Dante's didn't change.  
  
“Of course,” Quint answered, sneering at her, “and they should _remember_ that.”  
  
The inflection of his voice made it clear he considered her nothing, that she should remember who she was talking to, but it didn't stop her. Instead the fire in her gut blossomed, flaring out into her limbs until the tips of her fingers tingled and she took a step forward, moving closer to their group.  
  
“Forgive me for speaking plainly, my lord, but I think you have that backwards,” she told him, keeping her voice as lighthearted as she could while a beast raged inside her chest. She nodded towards the glass he held, asking him, “Who do you think made that wine you're drinking? And the amazing food you've been eating all night, who made that? Forgive me, but I can't imagine you working in a kitchen and getting flour all over your nice clothes.” Her focus shifted over to the lady whose lips were pursed tightly and she added, “And speaking of them, who do you think made that beautiful gown you're wearing, Lady Julia? Did you sew every stitch into place? No?” She shook her head, forcing her lips to curl up into a sweet smile while all she wanted to do was throw the plate she still held in their faces. “It seems to me you fine people are able to live quite nicely off the hard work us commoners do every day.”  
  
“Be careful,” Lord Costa warned, his tone low, and Clarke couldn't tell if it was any kind of friendly warning or not, “you begin to push too far.” Dante shifted beside him, tilting his head slightly to the side and then said easily, “I don't know, I think Clarke makes an excellent point. It's easy for us to speak of all we do for our people, but we also need to remember all they do for us.”  
  
“All they do?” Quint spat, not taking his eyes off Clarke and she didn't look away from him, refusing to back down even if she still forced an expression of mild interest. “All they do is give us headaches complaining while they try to hoard what they owe us, and we're supposed to accept that? Put up with it? No. It's our responsibility to put them back in their place, remind them we're the ones who hold the power.” He sneered at Clarke, telling her, “We nobles have something called pride and we live by it.” He eyed her up and down, the sneer growing, and added, “A woman like _you_ clearly wouldn't know what that's like.”  
  
For the first time in seven years Clarke almost slipped, almost told him that a Griffin held more pride in their pinky than a lesser lord from the Trikru did in their entire body, but she held it in. She could feel her hands shaking, one clasping around the plate she held in a death grip as the other curled into a fist at her side. She lost all semblance of her calm, for once let her mask entirely slip away, and knew her fury must be flashing across her face. By the way Lady Julia and Lord Costa shifted back, it was a sight to see. Rather than shrivel into herself like Quint obviously thought his words would make her do, she closed the space between them until the plate was only inches away from his gut.  
  
“You think that's what a noble's supposed to do?” she nearly whispered, a cold fury in her voice. “You really think commoners are just mice, workers you can order and push around?” Suddenly she turned on Thames, the lord's eyes widening a little with her fury directed at him. “You said all commoners do is fight? But it wasn't until the queen managed to unite the Kongeda that all the small civil wars stopped among the great houses. How many generations back did those wars go? How many people died because you and your ancestors just couldn't agree on where the borders between your land and the families around you began and ended?” His jaw closed in an audible _snap_ , glaring his own anger at her but clearly he had no response to that.  
  
She was turning back to Quint to continue when she heard movement behind their group. Lady Julia curtsied lightly and Thames, Costa and Dante all bowed, but neither she nor Quint looked away from each other. She didn't have to look to know exactly who had joined them, but didn't flinch when she heard the queen ask, “My lords, my lady. Mistress Blake. Is everything alright over here?”  
  
“We're just debating the struggle between the upper class and lower, Your Majesty,” Dante answered for them, actually sounding interested in the conversation and not like he was witnessing some big scene beginning to take place in the middle of the Great Hall. “Mistress Blake is giving us a refreshing look through her point of view.”  
  
Quint's nose scrunched up into yet another ugly sneer. “She's giving us a _whore's_ point of view. Hardly worth our time.”  
  
“At least I live off of money I actually _earn_ ,” she snapped, stepping even closer. Quint was a large man, intimidating under normal circumstances, but Clarke was far too furious to notice. Everything he'd said about a noble's interaction with their people was the exact opposite from what her father had taught her, what she believed in more than anything in the world, and she refused to back down from this fight. “Everything I have is something I earned, something I worked for. I didn't have to rely on a family name or title to get it. I don't have to beggar families out of their life's savings to feel important.”  
  
“And we all know exactly how you _earn_ it,” Quint jeered, leaning down so his face was only a few inches away from hers. “You just lie on your back and spread your legs for anyone with two copper pieces. I'm sure you work very hard for that.”  
  
“Lord Quint,” she heard the queen warn, and at the back of her mind she noticed the anger, could see the way she stood stiffly out of the corner of her eye, but Clarke was far too focused on the man in front of her to think about that. “I'd rather be a common whore than a noble who thinks raising the tax will somehow make me powerful. You want to feel big, but I deal with men like you every day and I can tell you, there's no one smaller.”  
  
Behind her she heard someone guffaw, a new voice she wasn't used to, and turned just enough to see a woman beside the queen, her hand resting easily on the sword at her hip. She recognized Lady Anya but had never spoken with her, and clearly she found her words amusing. Lady Julia had been taking a nervous sip of her wine as she'd spoken and had inhaled the liquid accidentally at the insult. Her husband now pounded lightly against her back as she coughed, spluttering both from the wine and Clarke's words.  
  
“Mistress Blake,” she heard the queen say, her anger now turned on her, and she finally managed to force herself to look away from Quint. As she did she noticed he'd turned a lovely shade of pink and had to fight against a smirk. Looking over she met the queen's gaze and immediately noticed the brightness of those flashing green eyes. “I am aware you are not accustomed to these kinds of gatherings, but this is not how we settle debates in the palace. Lord Quint was wrong to say the things he did,” her piercing gaze flickered over to him momentarily and they all knew he'd be getting his own lecture shortly, “but you are speaking about matters you don't understand. There is a lot of complexity that goes into decisions like raising taxes, complexity I wouldn't expect you to understand.”  
  
For a moment Quint's blush of embarrassment had managed to tamper her fury down, but now it soared right back up, rushing through her all the faster. For the first time she looked at the woman standing in front of her and truly saw the queen. _Idiot_ , she thought to herself, _You've known that all along_. Before when they talked though it had felt natural, right, like she were talking to an uptight friend almost, but now all she saw was Queen Alexandria Woods of the Kongeda.  
  
She fell into a perfect curtsy, not dipping so much as an inch deeper than propriety demanded.  
  
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone even. She knew everyone around her could hear the fury lacing her voice anyway and didn't really care. When she looked back up she looked over the older woman's shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes again. “I thought as the only person in this room who actually pays taxes I might know something about them, but if you say I'm wrong then I must be wrong.” She could see the shock and anger flash momentarily across the woman's expression, heard the shifting feet of the people around her but didn't back down. This woman might be the queen but that didn't mean Clarke would just shut up and fall to the floor like everyone else did around her. She was wrong, and she wanted her to know she thought so. Before the queen could think of anything to say in response she dipped into another curtsy. “My apologies again Your Majesty, but I'm supposed to be getting Lady Monroe dessert. I wouldn't want to shirk on my duties.” Without another word she stepped around the other woman, leaving her and the rest of the nobles behind her, likely with their jaws hanging open and eyes wide.  
  
She handed over the plate as soon as she made it back to her group, everyone there staring at her, clearly having watched her interaction with first the older nobles and then the queen. She didn't stay though, couldn't stand the thought of being in this room for one second longer, and continued right past them as soon as she'd handed off the plate. Later on she'd probably have to make the brush off up to Monroe, probably have to whisper in her ear and kiss her shoulders or neck until her noble's pride had been soothed, but it would be worth it. Right now she just needed to be away. Hopefully after she'd made it up to her Monroe would be up for a rough fucking: either giving or receiving, Clarke needed to pound this anger out of her.  
  
She stormed down a hallway lit with torches, both of her hands now curled into tight fists. In her head she raged, calling all of them idiots and herself the biggest idiot of all. She needed this, needed to stay on these people's good side if she wanted to be sure to get her revenge, and after that spectacle she might have ruined it. Parents might crack down on their children harder, ordering them to stay away from her. Worse, the queen might decide she was more trouble than her company was worth, and might decide she would no longer be allowed to attend any party even if the older nobles didn't order their children to stay away.  
  
“Stupid,” she hissed quietly, stopping in her tracks suddenly. The anger that had been coiling inside her for the past few minutes finally exploded and one fist lashed out, striking hard against the stone wall. The pain from the impact helped clear her mind just a little but more anger continued to boil beneath her skin.  
  
“I wondered when you'd lose it,” she heard behind her, and she whirled around to find a large man approaching her. He wore the green and bronze uniform of the Palace Guard and had one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. From the flickering light of the torches she could see he had dark skin, a shaved head, and his lips were curled up into a small but friendly smile. She'd seen him at many of the parties, standing back along the wall, but hadn't spoken with him. “You did well; I expected this to happen a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“I'm sorry?” she asked, not sure at all what he was talking about. He continued towards her until there was only a foot or two of space between them and then reached out, one hand hanging between them. He gestured to her hand, telling her, “Let me take a look.” She hesitated for a moment and then gave him her left hand and he carefully turned it over, looking over her knuckles. A couple were bleeding lightly and she knew they were bruising even before he gently poked at them.  
  
“Not bad,” he murmured, “nothing broken, at least.” He dropped her hand with a smile, looking back up at her. Nodding back towards the room they'd both just come from, he continued, “Nobles. They can be hard to be around for people not used to them. I expected something like this to happen weeks ago. You lasted a lot longer than I would have, in your shoes.”  
  
“I've been trained,” she told him, studying him carefully. He didn't look like he suspected anything, but it wouldn't do if he started wondering why she found them so easy to be around. “I know how to handle them.”  
  
He nodded but said, “Even so, no kind of training can really prepare you for them, especially so many in one room. Most of them are alright, but Quint is the kind of man who thinks the world should revolve around him.”  
  
“I know men who think that who are the lowest of the street filth,” she replied and he shrugged, admitting she was right. “Still, it's worse when they think that and have the money and power to back it up.” This time she shrugged, giving in. He grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and looked down at her. “Lexa's usually alright despite her high station, but even she can act like a noble sometimes.”  
  
Clarke frowned. “Lexa?” He nodded, gesturing back towards the room again and said, “The queen. Most of the time she acts as sensible as you or me, but sometimes she's as noble-minded as any of them.”  
  
It occurred to Clarke that this man must be on close terms with the queen if he called her by a nickname. It was something she'd never heard before, and she looked at him more closely. There was a double layer of bronze trimming along his tunic, telling her he was the Second in Command of the Guard. Clearly he wasn't a noble with the way he was talking, but his posture was perfect, back straight and shoulders proud and he had the stance of someone sure of his own skills. Most interesting were his kind eyes, his smile making it all the way to them and she realized not only was he handsome but genuinely sweet. That was a rare trait to come by.  
  
“I hope this doesn't sound rude, but why did you follow me?” she wanted to know, curious. He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “I guess I just wanted you to know you have a friend, if you come to the next one of these. Someone who has also earned everything he's made and doesn't judge you for how you make your living.” She stood there for a moment after that, a little shocked, and then murmured quietly, “Thank you.” His smile just grew and he nodded, and somehow she knew she'd just managed to make a friend without even meaning to.  
  
Footsteps coming down the hall broke through the moment and Clarke stiffened when she heard them stop followed by a curious, “Lincoln?” She knew that voice and so did he, the man giving her another smile before he turned around and straightened even further. “Your Majesty.”  
  
The brunette stood for a moment looking back and forth between the two of them and Clarke met the look, the anger that had been dying down under the confusion of this man's appearance growing again. She should curtsy, she knew, should bow or show some kind of respect, but her knees locked and her back remained straight. For his part Lincoln didn't bow either, but his posture was professional, not angry.  
  
“What are you doing out here?” she wanted to know, gaze falling back on Lincoln and the big man nodded towards Clarke. “Just making sure Mistress Blake is okay, Your Majesty.” The answer made her look back to the younger woman, and Clarke's chin stuck out stubbornly. “You can go now, Lincoln.”  
  
“Your Majesty,” he said, this time with a bow, and when he'd straightened back up he looked over to Clarke. “I hope to see you again soon, Mistress Blake.” He flashed her a smile and if she hadn't been so distracted and angry she would have returned it, and then he was making his way back down the hall and towards the party.  
  
For a moment after he left the hall was silent, neither of them saying anything. The queen was the one who finally broke it, telling her, “I apologize for the things Quint said to you; he shouldn't have spoken to you like that.”  
  
“Are you sorry he called me a whore, or about everything he said about commoners?” she wanted to know, still too angry to leave well enough alone. She may have already dug her own grave, but apparently she'd decided it needed to be dug even deeper. “Because I'm not ashamed of what I am, Your Majesty. I'm a whore: I have sex with people for money. I smile pretty and bat my eyelashes and people pay me for making them feel good about themselves.”  
  
Something like discomfort flashed across the queen's face but her tone remained even as she said, “Of course there's nothing wrong with that. You do what you have to.” Clarke nodded. “You're right, I do. I put on pretty dresses and come to your palace because your nobles pay me to. I can play at being noble, but none of you could ever play at being common. You and your lords and ladies rule over us, but not one of you have any idea what life is like for us.”  
  
At that the other woman's head tilted up before she shook it lightly. “Of course we know,” she replied, sounding genuinely surprised, “it's our duty to know that.”  
  
“No you don't,” Clarke insisted evenly, her mouth drawn into a thin line and brow furrowed. She hadn't known, until her world had burned down around her. “How could you possibly know? Have you ever even walked through Polis?”  
  
“Of course,” the queen said and Clarke shook her head. “No, I mean have you ever _walked_ through Polis? Not ridden your horse down the main street with guards surrounding you on all sides. Have your boots walked through the mud? Have you stepped in horse shit and worse in any of the back streets?” Subconsciously she took a step towards the queen, both drawn to her and trying to make her understand. “Have you ever seen a group of street kids running through a crowd and watched to see which ones would manage to pick the pockets of the people around them successfully, knowing only the ones who did were going to eat that night? Do you know the names of the bakers with the best bread or the names of the ones with the worst that people who can barely spare a copper piece have to go to and still get something full of mold? You can't tell me which inns are the best and which are the worst, or which ones always have a dice game going on in their common room. You can't name any of the widows who are left trying to work and raise their children at the same time because their husbands never came back from your war.” At that one she saw the older woman visibly flinch and she backed off a little, suddenly tired and feeling years older than she actually was. “I'm sorry Your Majesty, but you more than anyone have absolutely no idea what it's like to be a commoner, no matter what you say. You just can't; it isn't possible.”  
  
The silence drew out between them, the queen clearly not knowing what to say to that and Clarke too tired to say anything else. She wanted this woman to understand, to see why nobles like Quint were a problem, but besides the obvious she knew she couldn't. Those who were born with more would always think they understood those who weren't, and they would always be wrong. She had had to go from more to nothing to learn that. Now they stood in this hallway, someone with everything staring at someone with only a vague plan, and Clarke had never felt more alone in her life simply because she _wanted_ this other person to see, to get it even though she knew she couldn't. They stared at each other and the silence grew between them until another set of footsteps interrupted it.  
  
“Clarke?” someone asked, and slowly her focus shifted past the queen's shoulder to Monroe, half-illuminated in the torchlight. Monroe recognized who she was with a beat later. “Your Majesty. I'm sorry, am I interrupting?”  
  
“No,” Clarke replied, looking back at the queen. She was still staring at her, her brow drawn just slightly as though she were studying her, trying to read past everything she could see and find more. Clarke wouldn't let her do that, couldn't let anyone do that, and found herself curtsying to her. “I apologize for what I said to you, Your Majesty. You've been nothing but kind to me; I shouldn't have treated that kindness with such disrespect.” She waited, her head down and dipped in her curtsy, until she heard the queen shift.  
  
“No,” she said, voice lower than usual and a little hesitant. “No, there's no need to apologize, Clarke. I'm... There's no need to apologize.” She dipped her head a little further and then looked up, forcing on a smile. The queen met it with a straight face, expression calm, but behind it Clarke thought she saw more of that curiosity boiling. She didn't say anything about it though, just turned around and began making her way back towards the party. As she passed the other woman she nodded, saying simply, “Lady Monroe.” Monroe bowed to her but she kept going and then she'd disappeared behind the corner and Clarke couldn't decide if she could now breathe easier or if it was more difficult to take in a breath.  
  
She didn't have time to worry about that. As soon as the queen had disappeared Monroe moved over towards her, frowning. “Are you alright?” she wanted to know, scanning her face quickly. Clarke's forced smile grew and she nodded, telling her, “Yes, of course. I'm sorry my lady, I shouldn't have run off on you like that. I'm afraid I haven't been very good company tonight.”  
  
To her surprise, Monroe just grinned, her brow rising. “Are you kidding? You basically just told Quint to shove his head up his ass; that's something I've been wanting to say to him for weeks now. This is the best night I've had in a while.”  
  
Clarke's smile shifted, turning a little more genuine by the second. Maybe it was because only two generations of her family had been higher ranked, her grandfather a well-known fur trader back in his day, but Monroe seemed entirely all too pleased with what had just happened. Clarke stepped over to her, wrapping her arm around hers, and lifted an eyebrow at her. “Would you care to make this night even better? I think I've had enough of this party if you have.” Monroe's eyebrow cocked back at her and then she stepped back, pulling away from the other woman just enough so that she could reach down and take her hand. She brought it to her lips, leaving a light kiss along its back and met Clarke's eyes, a playful look tugging at her expression. “Mistress Blake, that party is nothing compared to getting to spend time in your company. Lead the way, and I'll gladly follow.”  
  
To Clarke's surprise she actually laughed, the sound foreign to her own ears. “Alright then my lady, if you'll follow me.” Her hand went back to Monroe's arm and the two continued down the hall, headed towards the exit.  
  
Later she would think back to this night, think back on her fight with Quint and her talk with the queen and she would probably call herself every manner of stupid for letting it all go so far, but for now she had a job to do. At the very least she didn't doubt Monroe would make what remained of their night together at least a little fun.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: there is a very brief mention of child sex work in this chapter. There's nothing in detail, but thought it best to give a quick warning to be safe.

... _You have absolutely no idea what it's like to be a commoner. You just can't; it isn't possible_.  
  
Even after three days Lexa couldn't get the words out of her head. Worse, she couldn't get Clarke's expression out of her head. The anger coming off the younger woman in the center of the Great Hall had been intense, certainly not something the queen was used to having directed so openly at her, but far worse than that was the look Clarke had given her later. Even in the dim torchlight Lexa had seen those blue eyes scanning her face, searching for something, but the fact that she hadn't found it had been obvious. All at once her expression had fallen, disappointed and resigned, before the queen had watched something else wash over it. Lexa knew a mask when she saw one, had been wearing her own every day of her life since even before she became a child-queen, and Clarke's had been perfect. In the flicker of the torchlight everything the other woman had been feeling had been hidden away until all that was left was emptiness, a blank slate. It chilled Lexa to think that someone else in the world wore that mask just as easily as she did.  
  
Ever since it was all she'd been able to think about.  
  
Unfortunately for her, her status didn't leave much time for thinking about a sad young woman disappointed with her queen, and this moment was no exception. She'd been moving on auto-pilot, trusting her body to know how to counter her opponent, but when her opponent was the Captain of the Guards anything short of one hundred percent focus wasn't enough. All of a sudden one wrist was grabbed in an iron-strong grip and the arm was wrenched up behind her. She could feel a body made of hard muscles and little mercy pressing against her back and moved to rip herself away but froze when the sharp blade of her opponent's dagger hovered mere centimeters from the soft skin of her neck. They both held entirely still for a moment until Indra stepped back, releasing her grip and re-sheathing her dagger in her belt.  
  
“Sloppy,” she grumbled, flashing a hard look up at the queen. “I haven't beaten you so easily in years. You aren't focused.”  
  
“I have a lot on my mind,” Lexa replied, fighting down her embarrassment. Not only had she just lost, Indra was right: she's been entirely sloppy and let her guard down, giving her opponent an easy advantage. The hard woman just looked at her with no sympathy, pointing to the dagger the brunette still held. “When you have that in your hand, nothing else should be on your mind. I don't care who you are or how many people want your attention, when you're holding a weapon the only thing you should care about is the opponent coming at you with their own.”  
  
She knew that and had to fight against the heat rising to her cheeks. It was one of the first lessons Anya had taught her when she was young and one that Indra had only reinforced when she'd started training with the Guard. The moment she stepped out into the courtyard and drew her knife her thoughts of Clarke should have disappeared, but instead they had distracted her enough to allow her opponent to get a knife to her throat. Sloppy indeed.  
  
Indra turned around, eyeing over the others around them, and Lexa tried not to think about how not only had she lost, but it had been in front of a dozen others. “You're done for the day, Your Majesty,” the Captain informed her, barely even glancing back over to the queen. “I can't take a chance of you getting hurt out here because you can't focus.” Lexa's jaw clenched but she knew the older woman was right and held her head a little higher to try to hold onto some semblance of her pride as she walked to the edge of the courtyard, ignoring the couple of people who glanced at her as she passed them.  
  
A servant stood at the edge of the courtyard and quickly held out a water skin to her, bowing his head. She really didn't think she deserved it after that sad excuse of a fight but accepted it with a nod, her embarrassment having made her throat dry more than the fight had. After a few long sips she returned it to him and then looked over the people training, feeling untethered. Normally training grounded her, made her feel more stable than any other part of her day, but ever since that night with Clarke and her accusation nothing seemed to be able to make her focus. She was lost and floating and just didn't understand why.  
  
A figure stepped away from the others on the training field and Lexa's attention went to him, her eyes narrowing. Lincoln's sweaty tunic stuck to him before he pealed it off and threw it to the ground, and then he was accepting a water skin from another servant and pouring some of it over his head before taking a long gulp.  
  
“Lincoln,” she called, a thought forming. Somehow she managed to keep her gait calm as she headed over to him, her hands moving to clasp behind her back. The big man looked over at her with an eyebrow quirked up and then smiled, shifting towards her. As she got closer she took in the sight of his chiseled chest, strong shoulders, and kind smile; if his looks didn't impress her, could any man's?  
  
“Your Majesty,” he greeted her with that same smile when she stopped near him, and then held out the water skin to her. She shook her head and he shrugged before taking another big swallow. As he drank he nodded back towards the courtyard and once he was done said, “Don't worry about what happened: we all get distracted sometimes. And Indra's impossible to beat even on your best day.”  
  
“Distractions get you killed,” she replied automatically, Anya's words coming out of her mouth. She shook her head then, trying to clear her mind, and then looked back up at him. “What were you and C– Mistress Blake talking about the other night?”  
  
The change in topic threw him off, and it was clear from the way he frowned, the handsome smile suddenly disappearing. “Just what I told you. I was just making sure she was okay.”  
  
“That was it?” she pried, studying him with the same intensity she used to study maps on the battlefield during her brief period of war life. “You just asked if she was alright and that was it?”  
  
He seemed to be studying her back, clearly confused. “No. I told her I was impressed it took her so long to lose her calm. And I wanted her to know she had a friend, if she comes back to the palace.”  
  
The idea Clarke might not come back, that Lexa might never see the mysterious woman again made her stomach drop but she tried to ignore it. Instead she focused on his other words, brow furrowing before she asked, “What do you mean you were impressed? You expected that... incident?”  
  
At that the man's frown disappeared, his lips once again curling up into a small smile. “Of course. There aren't many commoners who can be around so many nobles for so long without losing their heads. It's impressive she held out so long.” That sounded far too similar to what Clarke had said and it unnerved her. “What do you mean? You're around nobles all the time and you've never gotten into an argument with one.”  
  
Lincoln let out a humorless laugh, the smile now almost sarcastic as he held up the water skin. “Your Majesty, unless the palace was under attack few nobles are even going to notice I'm there. I'm just a soldier, I don't draw attention to myself. They can ignore me and I can do my job, that's all it'll be.” He paused to take a drink and roll his shoulders, needing to stretch his muscles after the work he'd done minutes ago. “Mistress Blake draws attention to herself; it's the whole point of her profession. The nobles can't ignore her or pretend she's not there. She has to talk to them, even if it's just the ones who pretend to like her, and is supposed to smile when they tell her to her face how worthless they think she is.”  
  
“She's not-” Lexa began, and then thought better about what she'd been about to say. “If it's so difficult for her, why does she come?” she asked instead, fingernails biting lightly into the skin of one wrist. She wanted Clarke to come back to the palace, wanted to see her again even though she knew she shouldn't, but she didn't want her uncomfortable. Lincoln lifted an eyebrow, as though the answer were clear, and she carefully gave nothing away in her expression.  
  
“Isn't it obvious, Your Majesty?” he said. “In one night she can make more here than she probably does in a month otherwise. For a few hours all she has to do is smile and try not to let anything the people around her say get to her, and then just entertain whatever lord or lady is paying her a little more after and she's that much richer. Nobody in their right mind would pass that up, and nothing I've witnessed tells me Mistress Blake's anything but sane.”  
  
Lexa had known that, though she'd also believed Clarke actually enjoyed her time at the palace, at least to some extent. If being around these people of higher class really was such a challenge for her as Lincoln suggested, she was an even better actress than the queen had believed. For a second she wondered if she'd always been acting whenever the two of them talked, or if anything she had said or any of her smiles had been genuine. She hoped so, but maybe that hope was sorely misplaced. Maybe the only true emotion she'd witnessed in Clarke had been that flicker of disappointment. The thought made Lexa's stomach drop even further and something in her chest squeeze.  
  
None of her thoughts crossed her expression. Instead she made sure to remain calm, unaffected as she continued to look at Lincoln. “It seems to me like at least the younger nobility has enjoyed her presence in the palace. Are you telling me that even with them it's all just an act? She just... smiles and pretends to be enjoying herself?”  
  
At that Lincoln gave her a look, something almost like pity briefly lighting in his dark eyes and Lexa's own widened a little at seeing it. “Your Majesty, commoners want to be around nobles about as much as nobles want to be around commoners. Some of us do it because we have to, but usually it isn't by choice. Nobles look down their noses at us, even the ones pretending they don't, and we complain about them and everyone hopes they won't have to spend time with the other.”  
  
“'We?'” Lexa repeated, surprised at the inclusion. She'd never thought of him as separate, not really, he was just a member of the Guard and something like a friend. In fact she'd much rather spend time with him than with many of the people closer to her rank, but clearly he'd drawn a dramatic line between them. He looked away then as he stood up a little straighter, unable to meet her eyes anymore and she felt a tiny ball of anger form in the pit of her stomach. “Speak, Lincoln. And speak plainly.”  
  
He let out an almost silent sigh, eyes closing for a second, and when they opened again he turned to face her. “We, Your Majesty. I am as common as Mistress Blake is. I hear people like Lord Quint talking about raising taxes on his people and know it'll starve half of them, and all I can do is stand silently and wait until my shift is over to go get a much needed drink, maybe with some of those very people who'll soon be starving.”  
  
“You've never said anything about it,” she accused him, her brow turning down. If she'd known, maybe she could have done something about it. He met her look blankly, so similarly to the mask she'd seen on Clarke that night that it made her grit her teeth. “You're a noble, Your Majesty,” he reminded her, his voice a little softer. “One of the good ones, sure, but you're the queen: that makes you more noble than any of them.”  
  
Though he spoke softly, for the first time in her life her title sounded like an insult. Up until now it had always been directed at her with reverence, maybe even jealousy. People wanted her title: her own aunt constantly looked at her like she knew she could be the better queen. Young men flocked around her trying to win her over and young women desperately tried to befriend her; their parents hung on her every word. Everyone wanted to know the queen and to be in her good graces, but now suddenly that wasn't true. Lincoln looked at her almost as though he were sorry for her, something entirely strange. It had seemed like Clarke had been studying her, had been trying to read past the title and been disappointed by what she'd found, resigned knowing that this woman was really just the queen everyone called her. The knowledge made Lexa's skin crawl, made her want to shed it, and suddenly she found herself turning and walking away from Lincoln, unable to meet his eyes anymore.  
  
She hurried out of the courtyard and into the palace, her mind whirling with Lincoln and Clarke's words. Sure, she'd always known there was a divide between the classes, but not to this extent. She'd always assumed that commoners respected the upper class who ruled over them, but now those beliefs were being seriously challenged. The idea that Lincoln, Indra, even Clarke, felt like they had to keep things from her _because_ of her title made her fingernails dig into her wrist so hard she feared they might pierce the skin.  
  
“You're lucky you were fighting Indra and not me,” she heard someone say behind her, and in the back of her mind she once again scolded herself. Anya had snuck up on her probably without even trying, and if she were an enemy the queen would be dead now. She needed to focus. “I would have made a show of knocking you on your ass to remind you to pay attention. What are you so distracted by that you couldn't pay attention to the woman with a knife coming at you?”  
  
“What do you think about commoners?” she blurted out, wincing as soon as she heard the words. Even so she glanced over as her friend stepped up beside her, seeing the confusion crossing Anya's face.  
  
“What do you mean what do I think about them?” she asked, tone gruff. “What everyone thinks about them, I guess. We need them and they need us.” Looking at the queen from the corner of her eye, she asked, “Is this about Quint and your friend Clarke the other night?”  
  
Lexa tried to ignore the brief flood of warmth that spread through her chest at the idea of Clarke being her friend. She nodded once, a little hesitantly, and Anya shrugged. “Quint's an idiot, we all know that. He gives his rank a bad name. Blake was right about what she said, though I doubt it'll work well for her how publicly she said it.”  
  
“She doesn't think I understand,” the queen muttered, staring in front of her now. Once again the expression on Clarke's face appeared in her mind, and she had to blink to try to wash it away. “She said it's impossible I could.”  
  
“You don't understand what?” her friend asked, eyeing her suspiciously. Lexa knew she was letting more than the usual emotion show, but this was Anya, the woman who had practically helped raise her after her father's death. “What it's like for her. To be a commoner.”  
  
Beside her the other woman scoffed and finally the queen turned back to her.  
  
“Of course you don't understand,” Anya told her, not holding back her words. “How could a queen know what it's like to be common?”  
  
“But we're all just people,” Lexa insisted, and the look Anya shot her at that made her frown. “That's just about all you have in common with her, Lexa,” she replied. “You can't know what life is like for her anymore than she can know what life is like for you. Nobles and commoners will never be able to actually understand each other. That's just the way of the world.”  
  
“I don't like it,” the queen growled, and Anya just let out a single laugh. “Too bad, kid. You can't change the way of the world.”  
  
_Why not_? Lexa wanted to ask, but at that moment she noticed Titus moving towards them. She let the conversation drop, fully knowing he would only look down his nose on it. Though almost a father-figure to her, she was fully aware what he would think about her concerning herself over something Clarke had said. She straightened her back and met his eye and he dropped into an easy bow. “Your Majesty, a word if you have a moment. I'd like to go over what you'll be saying at tomorrow's council meeting, and then Lord Thames would like to talk to you about how the trade routes will be affected come winter.”  
  
She nodded and followed him, Anya now just a step behind her. Her adviser talked as they walked and she nodded along with him, pretending to pay attention, but really her mind was reeling.  
  
Because really, why couldn't she change the world? Hadn't she already done the impossible in her short thirteen years as queen? _She_ had been the one to unite the thirteen houses after generations of civil wars had left their nation broken; _she_ had been the one to build an army strong enough to defeat the Reapers until all that remained of their people was a broken band of rebels who were even now being hunted down; no one else had ever been able to do either of those things before. Her father had talked about it, had even been trying to do it when he died, but _she_ was the one who'd been successful. She'd already done what others called impossible, so why not this too?  
  
As Titus talked and Anya followed she began to think, the shadows of a plan pooling together in her mind.

***

Even as she knocked on the door in front of her, Clarke knew this was a bad idea. This was the last thing she should be allowing herself to do, yet here she was. After only a few seconds the door opened and there was Niylah, her honey-brown eyes already seeming to know what she wanted.  
  
“Are you working tonight?” she asked, and the other woman shook her head, opening the door a little wider.  
  
It was all the invitation Clarke required.  
  
She pushed herself into the room, her hands going directly to the crook of the other woman's elbows and yanking her close. Their lips came together in a clash of teeth and tongue and the monster that had been howling in Clarke's chest for days quieted, if only for a moment. She lightly pushed Niylah back into the room, kicking the door shut behind her, and led her over to the bed without once letting up on her attack. The other woman's hands grasped at her back, fingers digging into the fabric of the thin robe she wore while Clarke tore at her own, and she let the pressure from the hold drive away the swirl of emotions she'd been feeling until the only one that remained was lust. Without worrying about the older woman she shoved her down to the bed and then climbed on top of her, quickly shedding herself of her robe.  
  
Monroe had been nice and her touch had managed to ward off the fury she'd felt after that last gathering at the palace, but it hadn't lasted. Almost as soon as the young knight had left that fury had come back, ramming into her chest and digging its roots into her skin and nothing Clarke had done over the last three days had been enough to drive it away entirely. She'd fucked and been fucked by any number of guests but their touch did nothing for her, barely even distracted her from the fire that burned under her skin. When she wasn't working she'd done her best to forget by drinking or holing herself away in her room to yet again go over the clues she and Wells had gathered, but none of it had worked. Quint's ugly sneer remained burned into her mind as did his words, and she'd ended up stabbing her pillow the night before when they yet again played on repeat in her head. Worse than his utter disregard towards the people he was supposed to protect though was the thought of the queen's expression, her shock when Clarke had told her the truth. She clearly had genuinely believed she understood but the younger woman knew it wasn't true, knew it could never be true, and for some reason that knowledge had wormed its way into her gut and just wouldn't leave her alone.  
  
“Clarke,” Niylah mumbled when the younger woman's teeth closed around the skin of her shoulder, and she shook her head. “Shut up,” she managed to say against the blonde's skin and she felt Niylah nod, felt her fingers dig more roughly down her back. Somewhere deep inside Clarke felt guilty, hated herself for what she was doing, but Niylah's touch managed to quiet the monsters and at the moment that's all she could care about.  
  
The two came together roughly in Niylah's bed, an act Clarke wished she could say she wasn't used to. She nipped at the older woman's skin and the blonde's hands gripped tightly at her own and they both fell apart long before either so much as considered trying to make the other come undone. In Niylah's bed Clarke let the hurricane of emotions swarming through her take control as she always did and Niylah just accepted them. Long fingers tugged sharply at the dark-haired woman's nipples, twisting and pinching them and Clarke hissed, letting the small sting of pain grow over everything else. Before long she was sliding down the other woman's body and leaving small red marks behind with her mouth until she was firmly nestled between Niylah's legs. Without any warning she attacked, using the sudden gasp Niylah let out to fuel her on, and then her lips were closed around her clit while two fingers pumped mercilessly into the other woman. Hands moved to her head and then fingers were tugging sharply against her hair and Clarke closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in this moment. She didn't let up until Niylah's body shuddered beneath her and still didn't stop, the monster in her chest needing this to continue. The grip on her hair tightened to the point of pain and she growled but let Niylah pull her away, and then the other woman was roughly turning them in the bed and Clarke had to fight for breath as her weight pressed down on her. Just when she was about to get it under control two of Niylah's fingers entered her roughly and she lost it again, her hands now scrambling at the other woman's back. She could feel the blonde staring down at her as she relentlessly pounded into her but Clarke just closed her eyes, not wanting to see anything and only wanting to feel. If she looked she would see the emotion Niylah wasn't quite able to hide away and the guilt would grow before she was ready to let it. Her nails bit lightly into the other woman's back and she gasped when her thumb began to draw incessant circles over her clit, harsh and demanding and soon she came undone beneath its demand, her back arching as her muscles clamped forcefully around Niylah's fingers.  
  
Clarke refused to open her eyes as the other woman moved, her fingers slipping out of her so she could lie on the bed beside her. The monster had barely waited for her orgasm to subside before settling back into her chest, sneering at her for thinking it could be driven away for long. Her fury came back to her just as strongly as her orgasm had washed over her, but now the guilt she'd known she would feel accompanied it. One arm came up to drape over her eyes, clearly trying to hide even knowing she couldn't, and she just laid there and felt Niylah watching her. Fingers moved up to play lightly with the ends of her hair and she just laid still.  
  
“It's getting lighter,” she finally heard, the words breaking through the uncomfortable silence between them. “I'll talk to my supplier about getting more dye for you.”  
  
“Thanks,” she just said and then waited another second before turning over and pushing herself up. She sat for a second on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor and felt tears well up in the corner of her eyes. Part of it came from her anger with Quint, part from her realization that the queen was nothing more than her title no matter how much she wanted it to be different, but a larger part came from her own inability to stay away from Niylah when she knew their trysts meant a very different thing to the older woman. She stood up and moved over to where she'd dropped her robe, and as she bent down to get it looked behind her. The other woman was still watching her, lying fully relaxed and naked on her bed, but Clarke could see the spark of emotion in her eyes she'd been dreading. Biting her lip so hard it began to bleed she pulled her robe on and refused to look back again. Quickly she made her way across the room to the door, stopping only when she'd reached it. With her hand on the knob she leaned forward until her forehead rested on the cool wood and closed her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled, knowing Niylah would hear it.  
  
“I know,” was the reply she got, the other woman's voice far too understanding, and Clarke left quickly, wishing she could somehow shut her guilt away as easily as she shut Niylah's understanding out.  
  
She didn't go back to her room, not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts. Instead she made her way through the house, passing closed doors where she could hear other whores entertaining and open rooms where she could see it. The noises just made her think about what she'd just let happen and she picked up her pace, the guilt turning to stone in her gut. Luna glanced up at her when she passed her desk but neither said anything, though the look in her eyes made Clarke wonder if she knew what she had just done. The mistress of The Rig was far too perceptive, always seemed to know what her people were thinking without having to be told, and the young whore walked more quickly, wanting to be away from that knowing gaze.  
  
Stepping outside, Clarke wasn't sure if it was the fresh air that made her suddenly feel like she could breathe a little better or just being away from Luna and Niylah. Considering The Rig was placed in the heart of a busy city, she doubted it was the fresh air. Laughter caught her attention and she turned, a more genuine smile than she'd had in days growing along her lips when she saw who was loitering around the bench outside. Monty and Harper were sitting and grinning up at Jasper and Maya, the three of them clearly laughing at some story Jasper had just told. He held a water skin in one hand, but with the way he had an armed draped casually over Maya's shoulders as he leaned against her she doubted its contents was actually water.  
  
Maya was the first to see her, and the smile she gave the dark-haired woman made her own grow. “Clarke!” she called and the other three turned, all giving her their own smiles. She made her way over to them and sat down beside Monty as the two on the bench made room for her. Before she was even sitting Jasper was holding out the water skin for her.  
  
“Drink?” he asked with a grin and she cocked an eyebrow at him before accepting it. She sniffed the opening and then shook her head, grinning as she took a big sip of the ale inside. It was stronger than she was expecting and she took another look at the skin. “Where'd you get this?” she wanted to know, handing it over to Monty at Jasper's gesture to pass it around.  
  
“The Ark,” he answered, referring to the tavern just down the street. “Monty 'n me helped Myles distill this new batch so he gave us a couple skins for free. Sounds like it's selling pretty well so far.”  
  
“I see why,” she told him, watching Monty pass the skin over to Harper after taking his own swig. “It's good.”  
  
“It was all Monty, really,” Jasper said with a grin, nodding to his best friend. “He's got a real talent for making alcohol.”  
  
“Sounds like you're in the wrong business,” Harper joked, nudging Monty's shoulder. She downed a gulp of the ale and then passed it on to Maya. “You could leave us and get into business with Myles, help him run The Ark. You could even keep your clothes on there.”  
  
In the relative dark Clarke thought she saw Monty's cheeks turn pink as he ducked his head, lips curling up into a smile. “I wouldn't know how to run a tavern,” he told them, and then his smile grew just a little larger. “Besides, why would I want to leave you guys?”  
  
“You could figure it out,” Maya informed him, shooting him a little grin as she passed the ale to Jasper. “I'm pretty sure you're smart enough to figure anything out.”  
  
“Definitely the smartest one here,” Harper agreed with a nod and another shove, and Monty just shook his head. “Naw, I'm not that smart,” he tried, glancing around the group. “I just got lucky with the ale, that's all.”  
  
“I don't know, I think they're right Monty,” Clarke told him, leaning back against the building and giving him a look, one corner of her mouth turning up. “I know a lot of people, but you're definitely one of the smartest I've ever met.” It was true: despite the fact that when she first met him Monty couldn't read, he absorbed knowledge like no one she'd ever met before. She taught him how to read and the basic mathematics her own teachers had taught her, and soon he was figuring problems out even she didn't know the answers to. She wished he could meet her friend Raven, the only other person she knew whose brain seemed to work as fast. Raven was the daughter to one of the kitchen servants at her home in Arkadia but the two had practically grown up together, which meant she'd tagged along to a lot of Clarke's lessons. By the time she was eleven Raven was stumping the mathematics teacher Clarke's parents had hired, thoroughly entertaining the two girls. It wasn't a subject she'd ever really cared for but Raven soaked it all up, and Clarke had a feeling it was something she and Monty would be able to talk about for hours.  
  
Monty blushed some more and quickly changed the subject, always uncomfortable at being the center of attention. Jasper took over for him, in this way the other boy's opposite, and soon he was back to cracking jokes and telling stories, the rest of them laughing or rolling their eyes at his antics. His free arm waved wildly in the air for emphasis while his other remained over Maya's shoulders, and the longer they were out there the less Clarke believed it was just for support. He was always more than happy to take a big swallow of the ale whenever the skin was passed to him, but the way he kept shifting a little bit closer to her didn't get by Clarke and she had to hide a grin behind the water skin when he passed it down to her.  
  
She lost track of time out there, her friends managing to distract her from the thoughts that had been racing around her head at least for a little while. People passed by them, calling out to them or whistling at one or more, and depending who it was they either ignored it or returned the calls. Polis always seemed to come alive as the day ended and night began, especially in the area around The Rig. More people flocked into the nearby taverns or smirked at them as they headed into the house, the whores working in for a long night with a lot of guests to entertain. Their group thought nothing of the noise and hectic life around them, more than used to it, and the more they passed around Jasper's water skin the more they all began to feel that life pounding through them too.  
  
Harper was in the middle of a story about a street fight she'd witnessed the previous night when somebody came jogging down the road and slowed down when she got to them. Clarke's gaze fell on the young girl as she began to walk past their group and when she caught her eye she gave her a smile.  
  
“Hey Charlotte,” she called and the ten-year-old returned her smile, moving over to join their group. Maya and Jasper both stepped to the side to make room for her, and the rest of the group echoed Clarke's greetings.  
  
“Hey,” Charlotte replied, flashing her smile around the circle before she moved over to the bench and sat next to Clarke, her feet just barely touching the ground. The older woman made room for her while studying her from the corner of her eye. It had been a few days since she last saw her, and now looking her over she decided she'd have to take her out to get a good dinner at some point soon. She'd made enough recently entertaining the lords and lady she could certainly afford a good meal for her friend. While she was protective of everyone at The Rig there were certain people she was more protective of, and Charlotte was one of them. She knew it was probably because the little girl was only a couple of years younger than Madi but tried not to think about it, memories of her little sister the ones that were always the hardest to push away.  
  
Harper nodded to the old leather bag she had slung over her shoulder, saying, “You getting us all set up for the next couple of days?” The younger girl shrugged the shoulder with the bag over it, grinning as she told her, “Wouldn't want ya to get bored just sittin' around.” She grabbed at the bag as though she were weighing it in her hand and then added, “I bet there're plenty a men that can't wait to get their hands on you again, Harper.”  
  
“Don't I know it,” the blonde replied with an eye roll quickly followed by a smirk and Jasper snorted as he tried to take another swallow from the water skin, inhaling the liquid. Half of the mouthful ended up running down his chin and Clarke wondered if maybe it was time to try to pry him away from the alcohol but decided that was a fight she didn't have the energy to get into. Maya shook her head as she pounded the heel of her hand against his back and Harper and Charlotte laughed at him while Monty let out a small, amused sigh.  
  
“Maybe it's time to put down the ale, Jasper,” he tried, giving his best friend a look and the other boy just shot him a grin even as he continued coughing. “...fine,” he argued, shaking his head and holding the skin to his chest as though Monty might try to snatch it away. Nobody else tried to argue with him and when he stopped coughing he just grinned again, shrugging as though to prove he was alright.  
  
Charlotte was still shaking her head at him as she pushed herself back off the bench. “I gotta go, Luna's waitin' for me. She's gonna wanna start goin' through all these papers to figure out whose workin' where the next few days.”  
  
“I hope you at least brought me someone good this time,” Harper complained jokingly as the younger girl stood back up. “Last week all you had for me was Jeremiah Clawson. He spent half the time crying and the entire time stinking up the room. I still say Emori should have just burned those sheets rather than try to wash them after.” Charlotte flashed her another grin, giving her a look. “Hey, I just git the messages,” she reminded them, walking backwards towards the door. “You want some'un better 'en Jeremiah Clawson then you gotta find 'em and get 'em.” She gave Harper a wink and then turned around, hurrying into The Rig to hand over her bag to their mistress.  
  
The rest of the group fell back into conversation but Clarke remained quiet, thinking about how different Charlotte was now than from when she'd first met her. It had only been a little over a year ago when Luna had heard about the nine-year-old girl working at Mecha's Pleasure House, a rival whorehouse in the city. That same day she'd gone down there with a full purse and returned with an empty one and the little girl trailing terrified behind her. Clarke had been horrified when she first learned about how young some children were when they started working at these kinds of houses, enough that she'd physically been sick once after seeing the expressions on some of their faces. It was a horror that Luna shared, but also one she was intent on fixing one child at a time. With every guest her people entertained part of that money went to the person entertaining and part went to Luna. The Rig's mistress always saved a percentage of it, tucking it away for these exact situations and whenever she could she used it to take in another child. Once they'd joined The Rig they worked as messengers, cleaners, anything Luna could come up with until they were fourteen. Then they would start work as whores or would leave to try to find some kind of work elsewhere. Clarke thought it was harsh but knew it was a better life than any of them would have had without Luna's involvement.  
  
She was staring off, only half paying attention to her friends around her and thinking about the harsh realities she'd had to learn about quickly when Charlotte popped back out of The Rig, no longer carrying the bag. The young girl headed straight over to their group again, but this time only looked at Clarke, hooking her thumb over her shoulder.  
  
“Hey Clarke, Luna wants to see ya,” she informed her, bobbing her head back towards the door. “Guess you got some'un.”  
  
“Probably another pretty lord wanting to take you to the palace to show you off a little before he fucks you,” Harper said with a sigh and Clarke couldn't quite tell if it was exaggerated or real. “Maybe,” she muttered as she rose. Part of her hoped she was right and the other part worried she wasn't; none of the lords had reached out since her argument with Quint and scene with the queen, and she worried she'd blown her chances of ever going back. Even Finn hadn't reached out, and that was enough to surprise her.  
  
Charlotte passed her to take her spot on the bench, easily falling into the conversation with the others, and Clarke felt the corners of her lips tug up for just a second at how comfortable she looked. A year ago she always hung back, too timid and terrified to even really talk to anyone, and now she looked to be entirely content with the others around her. Luna had saved her, no doubt about it, and to Clarke _that_ was what made someone a true leader. Quint had the money and titles but in her mind there was no question that the mistress of a common whorehouse had a far better sense of duty than the lesser lord.  
  
Thinking about Quint made her sigh, fingers coming up to rub at her forehead. The ale had been good in the moment but now it mixed with the anger she could still feel festering beneath her skin and she felt a headache coming on. Hopefully whoever had written for her company didn't want it right away or she was in for a very long and annoying night.  
  
Ignoring the sounds of the house and people in it, she made her way straight to Luna's desk, the older woman behind it as always and shuffling through a pile of papers. “Charlotte said you had someone for me?”  
  
“You have a message, yes,” she replied, not looking up. A piece of paper was folded neatly at the side of her desk and she picked it up, holding it out between them. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her and accepted it, unfolding it to read what it said. When she saw the handwriting she froze, and then had to scan over the words a few times before she was finally able to fully absorb them. 

_They're here. I'm watching them; what do you want to do now?  
W._

All at once the monster in her chest settled, everything that had been whirling inside her for days, years even, going completely still. Her senses sharpened and all at once it was as though she could hear everything and nothing, her entire focus on the few words written on the piece of parchment in front of her.  
  
They were finally in Polis.  
  
It was finally time.  
  
She glanced up from the paper and over the desk, finding Luna already watching her. “I'm going to need you to do a favor for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the absolutely amazing comments that have been left on this story so far! It's so incredible to me that so many people seem to be enjoying this story so much, and I hope that you all continue to enjoy it more and more with every new chapter!


	7. Chapter Seven

Bennet Johnson – called Ben by everyone but his mother – rolled his neck while he waited for his tankard, sighing when he heard a loud pop as he shifted just right. A long ride always made him achy, and nothing made it better than a good stretch followed by a better ale. On the seat across from him his friend Jenson Dawes picked at something in his teeth as he eyed over the tavern's other occupants.  
  
“How long does it take to get a coupla drinks round here?” he growled, also looking around. As though she'd heard him a woman holding a tray with two tankards on it came over to them and placed them on the table between the two without a word. She turned to head back over to the counter and Ben's eyes followed her, dropping down to the swell of her ass. She had a decent face, but he bet she'd look a lot better without that dress on. He grinned just thinking about it before grabbing one of the tankards and taking a swig of his ale.  
  
“Yer an idiot if you think that's gonna happen,” Jenson said, apparently noticing the way he watched their server leave. “She's not interested. Now me,” he paused, nodding towards a table a little ways away from them and smirked. “I see someone interested.”  
  
Ben turned in his seat to find a woman sitting alone at a table with her own drink, clearly watching them. She looked to be in her late twenties, maybe a little older, her hair a mass of springy curls. She grinned when she saw him look and then got up, and both men were smirking as she made her way over to their table, carrying her drink with her.  
  
“Mind if I join you gentlemen?” she asked and Jenson shook his head while Ben replied, “Not at all, sweetheart.” The woman took a seat at the end of the table, looking between the two of them, and raised an eyebrow. “You two aren't from around here are you? Traveling?”  
  
“How'd ya know?” Jenson asked and the woman just shrugged. “Just a lucky guess. Where are you coming from?”  
  
“Azgeda, most recently,” Ben told her and both eyebrows shot up, apparently impressed. “That's quite the trip. Sounds like maybe you two could use a little company tonight. In my experience men who travel that far want a nice welcome when they get to Polis.”  
  
“You offerin'?” Jenson asked, smirking as he shifted a little closer to her and Ben mirrored the movement. He couldn't believe their luck but here this woman was, offering up exactly what he wanted.  
  
The woman let out a soft chuckle, apparently amused at the thought, and his smirk fell away. He and Jenson eyed each other across the table, neither happy with her reaction, but then turned back to her as she said, “Not exactly. I'm Luna Flou; I run The Rig, one of Polis's finest whorehouses. I like to keep my eyes open for new customers.” She looked them up and down, as though she'd just found some and Ben took another large swallow of his ale to hide his thoughts. While he'd been happy at the idea of taking her back to their inn, the fact that she ran a whorehouse might be even better. Glancing at Jenson out of the corner of his eye, he could tell his friend was just as interested.  
  
“Maybe we're not looking for a whore,” he said as he set his tankard back down, trying to act as though he didn't care what she had to say. She shrugged, leaning back a little in her chair, and when she crossed her arms in front of her he couldn't help but notice the way her tits stuck out of the top of her dress just a little more. Immediately his cock proved he was lying, but she didn't need to know that.  
  
“Maybe you're not,” she agreed, giving him a little nod. “That's fine. I was gonna send you one of my best girls, but if you're not interested then I'll leave you alone.” She began to get up but Jenson leaned forward, glancing at Ben first and then back at her. “What's she look like?” Settling back in her chair Luna turned to him, telling him, “Big blue eyes and dark red hair. A pair of tits that'll fit in your hands nicely. She's a pro; it'd be the best fuck of your lives.”  
  
As she described the whore Ben's pants seemed to get tighter, the visual she gave them making his cock stir. He knew he wouldn't be happy until he'd fucked her good and hard, and from the way Jenson shifted in his seat he knew his friend felt the same way. They glanced at each other, smirking again, and then Jenson asked, “When do we get 'er?”  
  
Luna stood up again, grinning down at them as she did. “Go to The Dropship tonight and tell Murphy you're there to see Clarke. She'll be waiting for you in room five.” She walked away and the two men grinned at each other, just imagining what waited for them.  
  
The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag by slowly after that. They got a few more drinks and then walked around Polis, just trying to pass the time. As the sun began to sink they grabbed dinner at another tavern, each clearly distracted with thoughts about what they would be doing in just a short time and then when they finished they finally made their way to The Dropship, having to ask around a little to be pointed in the right direction. The man behind the counter eyed them over once when they repeated Luna's message and then he gestured to a door that led upstairs and gave them directions to the correct room. As they made their way down the hall Ben could feel his cock hardening again, fully anticipating enjoying himself that night. He and Jenson shared a look when they got to the right door and then he pushed it open.  
  
A woman laid on the bed on the other side of the room and Ben grinned when he saw the only thing covering her was a thin blue robe. Dark red hair covered her shoulders and when she turned he saw those bright blue eyes the other woman had promised. Even better was the fact that her robe wasn't closed all the way, which meant the swell of those big tits peaked out of the fabric covering her chest. His palms itched to touch them and his cocked twitched in his pants as he thought of ripping that robe off her.  
  
“Well hello sweetheart,” he said with a grin as the two of them stepped into the room, Jenson closing the door behind them. “Luna wasn't lying; you look like you'll give us some fun tonight.” They moved further into the room, neither able to take their eyes off her. Ben watched as she sat up and then swung her legs over the side of the bed, his focus getting caught on pale skin and thinking about how soft it would feel when he ran his hands over it.  
  
“You don't recognize me?” the woman asked, her voice low and husky, and he grinned thinking about how it would sound when they were making her moan. Jenson's eyes fell back to her chest as she stood up, her hair swaying lightly with the motion and showing just a hint more of her chest. “I think I'd remember seeing you before. Those tits don't look like they'd be easy to forget.”  
  
“I looked a little different last time,” she replied, and as she spoke something in her tone changed, a coldness taking over and the huskiness leaving. The change made them pause, made Ben frown, and then it was her face he was looking at, finding that bright blue he'd enjoyed just a moment ago turning cold and dangerous. He met her eyes and felt a chill run up his spine, the hard stare she gave them piercing right through him. Her next words tore into him like a blade, shock coursing through him like a splash of freezing water as his eyes went wide. “I am Clarke Griffin of the Arkadian Hills, and you two killed my father.”  
  
A floorboard creaked behind them and Ben tore his eyes away from her, turning around just in time to see a young man with dark skin lift the sword he was holding. His eyes flickered to the side of the room where the privy door now hung open and he realized what was happening just as the other man brought the pommel of his sword down against Jenson's temple. He dropped instantly, knocked out from the one blow, and Ben scrambled for the knife he always kept at his belt. The other man was fast though, had clearly been expecting it, and thrust his sword out again, this time bringing the pommel down against his head. Ben dropped to his knees, his vision immediately blurring into black, and the last thing he saw before he passed out was a woman he thought he'd killed seven years ago staring down at him. 

***

_Foreign voices swam through Clarke's mind, the words tapering off mid-sentence as her brain worked to try to understand them. Bursts of red and blue and white flashes constantly shifted against pure black, images trying to take shape but then quickly melting back into shadows as her consciousness desperately tried to grab at them. The words made sense and they didn't, growing and shrinking over and over again and Clarke couldn't quite grasp what was a dream and what might be a reality.  
  
The list from the Miller's stores flashed in front of her eyes, numbers and letters bleeding together into nonsense.  
  
“...don't know why we can't just do it...”  
  
Madi holding onto their mother's hand, her other hand waving in a desperate flurry as the train of people rode away. Clarke could feel a ghost of herself grin at her sister's enthusiasm.  
  
“...shut yer mouth and quit complaining, you know we have to...”  
  
Her father pointing to a cluster of yellow flowers on the side of the road, his eyebrow lifting as he waited for her to identify them.  
  
“...too fucking heavy...”  
  
The flowers flashed in front of her again, and her sluggish mind worked to try to identify them. Not forsythia or knapweed but...  
  
“...think she's waking up...”  
  
Calendula.  
  
Slowly Clarke's senses began to return to her. The sounds around her became more real, more solid, and she tried to focus on them. The two voices continued and she frowned, trying to place them but not knowing if she'd ever heard them before. They definitely weren't any of her servants, not her friends and absolutely not her family. They were a mystery she couldn't place, her foggy mind too tired to even try, so she ignored them for the time being. She could smell smoke, just a light scent in the air and could hear the fire crackling, and remembered she'd fallen asleep to the same crackle in the hearth in her room. Mixed with the smoke was body odor, not real heavy but also not particularly pleasant, and she was relatively sure it wasn't her own. Her mind showed her an image of soapy water and she remembered the bath the innkeeper had drawn for her.  
  
Inn. She wasn't at home in Arkadia or even at the Millers' estate: she was at an inn, her father's favorite. They had been traveling all day and stopped for the night so they wouldn't have to continue in the dark. That all made sense and she even remembered pieces of the night and getting settled, but something still wasn't right, something still didn't quite fit together.  
  
All at once the back of her neck ached and she realized her head was hanging forward, dead weight on her neck. That shouldn't be right: she'd fallen asleep in a bed with her head on a pillow, so why was she now upright, her head hanging down? It took more strength than she thought she had but she rolled it to the side and then back up, the motion making her dizzy and neck just ache even more.  
  
“See, told you she was waking up.”  
  
The voices again. They had gone quiet for a moment while she moved, but there one was again. She still didn't know it, couldn't place it, and forced herself to open her eyes. It took a few tries and a lot of effort on her part, but finally they were open and though the room swam a little, she began to make out details she couldn't before.  
  
This wasn't her room. It took a moment, her focus still fuzzy, but after a minute she was sure of it. Hers had been just a little smaller, and had had a bit of artwork up on the walls. This room had shelves with a few books instead, and a small table stood beside the hearth. From the way the table was placed Clarke could tell there should be chairs around it, but instead they were in the center of the room and she and her father were sitting in them. The ropes wrapped around their arms and legs held them to the chairs, and when she tried to move she found she couldn't. They were stuck, and she knew once her mind started working at normal speed again she'd start to panic, but for now the thought just filtered through the fog. Only the sight of her father beside her, also tied up with his head hanging over his chest managed to push through that fog, beginning to clear it away.  
  
“Father?” she let out in a croak, her voice hoarse though she didn't know why. She realized in that moment her mouth and throat were completely dry and tried to swallow, not having much success. “Wa... Wake up.”  
  
It took repeating the words a few times, her volume growing each time, but finally she saw him begin to stir. By the time his head was lifting enough of the fog had cleared from her mind for her to fully understand the situation they were in, and her heart had started racing. She tried not to look to the side of the room where she could just make out the figures of two men standing, fear prickling up her spine.  
  
Her father seemed to come-to a little faster once he regained consciousness, his mind clearly piecing everything together just a fraction quicker than hers had. She could see him blinking rapidly, likely trying to clear his vision, before he looked over at her. He scanned her over, taking in the ropes around her legs and arms and then looked up at her face, probably seeing the fear there.  
  
“Clarke!” he exclaimed and tried to move closer to her, his own ropes keeping him from being able to do so. He looked down at them as though only noticing them for the first time and then he was looking back up, scanning her face. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I don't...” she began, voice trailing off and when she heard footsteps she glanced over, the two men taking a couple of steps closer to them. Jake looked over as well, a fierce glare taking over his expression, something Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. “Who are you?” he demanded, his tone hard. “What do you want?”  
  
“We got a job, m'lord,” one of the men said, a big man with black hair and dark eyes. He had a scar that ran down the right side of his face and disappeared beneath a thick beard. “It's not that we want to do it, but a job's a job.”  
  
“And we're getting paid real good for this one,” his companion agreed, smirking over at him. This second man was a little smaller than the first but looked no less dangerous, his long brown hair pulled back with only a few strands falling in his face. He had a large, nasty looking sword buckled against his hip and one hand went to the pommel, resting casually against it. Clarke followed the motion, eyes drawn to the weapon and felt her heartbeat begin racing even faster as sweat started to bead along her hairline.  
  
“Whatever you're getting paid, it isn't worth it,” her father tried, his voice still hard. “You've kidnapped a lord and his daughter; if any harm comes to us it'll mean your lives. Leave now and we won't track you down. We can forget this happened.”  
  
Before he even finished talking, the one with the sword began shaking his head. “Can't do that m'lord. We got half the pay when our boss gave us the job, we'll get the other half when we prove to him it's been done.”  
  
Clarke could feel the panic turning into bile in the back of her throat and she fought to keep it down, to not let her fear show so obviously. Beside her her father looked almost calm, eyes scanning back and forth over the two men's faces and she wondered what he was thinking, what he was going to do to get them out of here. Suddenly he lifted his chin a little higher before he glanced over at her. She tried to read everything in his eyes as they looked at each other, and the resigned acceptance she saw flicker in pale blue she'd known all her life made her stomach turn. Finally he looked back over at them, telling them, “Do whatever you have to to me, but let my daughter go.”  
  
“No!” Clarke yelled, the panic turning into something like a frenzy inside her. Whatever had knocked her out earlier still seemed to make everything happen a little slower, made it harder to fully grasp everything that was going on, but she knew what her father was doing and couldn't just let him sacrifice himself for her. Looking back at the two men she let her fear show, hoped it would do something to make them change their minds as she begged, “Please, you don't have to do this. Whatever you're being paid, we can double it! We'll, we'll just pay you and you can leave and we can, we can forget this! Please!”  
  
The man with the sword gave her a partial grin, the look causing a hole to form in Clarke's gut and her stomach to drop. “That's just bad business, m'lady. Who would hire us if we went and turned on the people who paid us?”  
  
“It is too bad though,” his companion mused, stepping closer to them. “Wasting a pretty face like yers.” He reached forward to wipe a strand of hair away that had fallen in her face and beside her her father yanked against his ropes, hard enough that the chair shifted, scraping against the floor. “Don't touch her!” he shouted, eyes flashing and teeth clenching together. The man just raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Doesn't really look like yer in the position to be giving orders right now, m'lord.” As though to prove it he reached back out, this time grasping Clarke's cheek.  
  
She moved without thinking. Her head snapped to the side and her teeth sank into the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger, blood almost immediately pooling into her mouth. The man howled, trying to jerk his hand away from her but she just held on tighter until she'd pierced all the way through his skin and her teeth were touching. With his free hand he yanked a dagger from his belt, turned it upside down, and smashed the blunt end just above her temple. Clarke felt her skin open and blood begin to pour down the side of her face, the force of the blow enough to make her let go of his hand as her vision blurred for a moment before she could blink the room back into focus. He cursed, waving the damaged hand in the air and then glared at her and brought the bloody hand to her throat. All at once he squeezed and she wheezed, trying to draw air in past the pressure he put on her windpipe and being unable to.  
  
“No, get your hands off her!” she could hear her father yelling, along with the sound of the legs of his chair scraping on the floor as he tried to wrench himself free. “F-Fa-” she tried to get out but the hand around her throat squeezed tighter. Jake just struggled more, bruises and welts forming beneath the ropes but he refused to give up. He rocked himself hard enough that the chair finally tipped forward, directly into the man with his hand around his daughter's throat, only to then tip over onto the floor. The movement was enough to distract the man, releasing his hold on her, and Clarke coughed and gasped as tears rolled down her face, her throat and neck burning. Despite the reaction she tried to glare at him, tried not to show him her fear anymore, and he met it with a clenched jaw before a spark lit up in his eyes, a grin slowly forming.  
  
“Dumb bitch,” he growled, “I wasn't gonna make you watch this, but now.” Without looking away from her he shifted his grip on his dagger, turning it over in his hand. The cruel curl of his mouth grew and Clarke began shaking her head as he stepped over to her father strapped to the chair lying on the floor. “No,” she managed to croak out, “no, please, don't...”  
  
“Too late,” he said with a grin and then his dagger plunged forward, burying itself in Jake's chest. He yanked back and then plunged it down a second, third, fourth time. Clarke screamed, the sound lost and terrifying even to her, but she couldn't even really hear it as the dagger sank over and over into his chest. Her father let out a loud groan, his eyes going impossibly wide and his body spasmed against the ropes holding him down in an automatic reaction. Blood began to bubble at his lips and his mouth started to move, no words quite coming out. Slowly he looked over, eyes going to Clarke and she met them, watching as their light slowly dimmed. “Clarke...” he got out in a wet murmur and then he was gone, his entire body going still and eyes no longer seeing.  
  
“No!” Clarke cried over and over, tears now streaming down her face. No matter what she did she couldn't tear her eyes away from her father's lifeless face, desperately hoping she'd see even just a flicker of movement but knowing she never would again.  
  
Beneath her screaming, she could hear the two men talking again.  
  
“We have to get going,” the man with the sword stated, having to talk loudly to be heard over her cries. “The drug on all of 'em will wear off soon, probably sooner if she keeps screaming.”  
  
“I say we bring her with us, teach her to know when to shut up,” the other man growled, wiping his bloody dagger against his pant leg. He held the hand she'd bitten up by his head, probably trying to slow the bleeding but by now only the tops of his fingers weren't fully stained with a mixture of his own blood and the dead lord's. Using his dagger he cut a strip away from the dead man's shirt and began wrapping it around his hand in a makeshift bandage.  
  
“No, you know the orders,” the man with the sword replied, eyeing his companion. “No witnesses. If he finds out we let her live we might as well slit our own throats. She has to die, and it all has to look like an accident.”  
  
The first man let out another growl but then smirked, a new thought clearly coming to him. He shifted his weight, looking at the crying girl, and said, “Then we'll let her die in the accident. Might as well let the story be half true.” His friend shrugged in agreement and then drew his sword and stepped over to Lord Jakob's body.  
  
“No, stop!” Clarke cried, catching the movement. Her grief had overpowered her, leaving her barely capable of hearing them speak but she noticed his approach and the movement of his sword. “Leave him alone!”  
  
“Our boss needs proof,” he replied simply and gave her a look. “You might want to close yer eyes.” She tried, desperately wanted to so she wouldn't have to see what happened next, but no matter how loudly her mind yelled at them her eyes didn't close. Instead she watched as the man brought his sword down in one swift, even slice, and then her father's head was rolling just a couple of inches away from his body. A thin, high-pitched noise filled the room and it took Clarke a second to realize the noise was coming from her, starting in her chest and pealing its way up her throat. The two men just ignored it, one grabbing her father's head and stuffing it in a sack he pulled from his belt before he resheathed his sword. Without another word he headed towards the door, opening it and waiting for his friend to join him. The man with the scar and bloody hand turned to her before he followed, smirking as he told her, “Goodnight, m'lady. I hear it's gonna be a warm one.” With that he followed his friend and the two slipped out of the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind them.  
  
Clarke struggled against the ropes still binding her in place, her skin quickly chaffing, light trickles of blood running down her wrists where the coarse rope rubbed hard enough to break the skin. She yanked and twisted and struggled until her nightgown was sweat-soaked and sticking to her and her chest rose and fell rapidly, barely able to catch her breath. She fought until she was exhausted and then all at once she just stopped, all the fight leaving her. As soon as it was gone she was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks and her chest heaving as she tried not to look at the body of her father and failed. For some sick reason she couldn't make herself look away, her eyes practically stuck on the large dark spot forming along his chest and pooling even more thickly around the stump of his neck. Seeing it a wave of nausea washed over her and she only just managed to turn her head to the side in time as her dinner suddenly came back up in a half-liquid mess. She heaved and heaved until all that was coming out was stomach bile, the acid burning up her throat and coating her mouth and nose. Every time she tried to take in a lungful of air to stop it her body rebelled against it, yet more bile coming up. The acrid stench of stomach acid filled her nose and it only made her vomit more.  
  
She was so focused on the vomit and the sharp ache of her muscles as her stomach clenched with another heave that it took her a second to notice the other smell quickly getting thicker around her. Finally she managed to get control of herself though, just long enough to take in a breath, and then she was frowning. Thick smoke now hung in the air, mixing into the putrid scent of her sick and the blood from her father's corpse, and she strained in her chair, her back twisting painfully to look at the hearth behind her. The flames there continued to dance, licking away at the few logs beneath them, and she frowned knowing that fire wasn't nearly big enough to be giving off this much smoke. She looked around, realizing the smoke was now thick enough to see, hovering in the air just above her head, and a fresh wave of panic settled firmly inside her chest as she turned towards the door. Clouds of thick gray smoke wafted through the crack of the door the men had left open behind them, and suddenly she knew exactly what had happened. Once again she began struggling against the ropes, the sheer panic of imminent death giving her a fresh wave of energy.  
  
It was no use; the men, whoever they were, had tied her too tightly to the chair, not leaving any room for her to wiggle herself free. She fought and fought and fought and then again the fight drained out of her and she sank back against the carved wood, knowing it was no use. She had no way of getting away and the inn was burning beneath her: she was trapped. The smoke in the room made her eyes sting but it was the knowledge that she was as good as dead that caused the few fresh tears to slip down her cheeks.  
  
“Clarke!”  
  
Her head whipped up as the door suddenly burst open. Wells stood in the doorway in his night clothes, naked sword in his hand. Immediately he scanned the room, finding her upright in the chair and the body of her dead father laying on the floor beside her. Even in the dark room she could see him go ashen at the sight.  
  
“Wells!” she exclaimed, relief suddenly washing over her. He rushed over to her, quickly cutting her loose and the moment she could she dove at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as she cried against his neck. He dropped his sword to return the hold, his body hard and comforting against her own.  
  
“What happened?” he demanded, pulling back just enough to look at her. One hand went to her head, fingers lightly brushing against the cut that still bled above her temple. She shook her head, unaware of the tears still streaming down her face. “They killed him. They killed him Wells. We, we have to get everyone and get out of here.”  
  
“They're all unconscious,” he informed her, shaking his head. “Everyone. I heard something, you screaming, and woke up. I tried to rouse the others but couldn't. He can't be-” He looked over again at the body beside them, easily seeing the blood and missing head and then tears were running down his cheeks too. “Lord Jake...”  
  
“We don't have time, Wells!” Clarke yelled, the smoke in the room starting to fill her nose and coat her throat. “We have to get out of here! They're burning it down!” She didn't have to say anything else, didn't need to clarify further as he started nodding. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her towards the door but before he could she yanked herself out of his grip. He looked at her like she was crazy but she ignored it, running over to the bags beside her father's bed, the sheets strewn about from when the two men had pulled him out of it. Kneeling down she pushed the bags aside until she found his sword still firmly held in its scabbard and grabbed it, clutching onto it as though her life depended on it. Standing there with the sword in her hand she spared one final look at her father's body, forced herself to hold in a sob, and then ran back over to Wells. He grabbed her free hand and pulled her out of the room.  
  
Finding their way out of the inn was nearly impossible. The smoke in the hallway was far thicker than it had been in the room, and soon they were both coughing, the billowing black caking itself into their lungs with every breath they tried to take. They had to let go of each other's hands to try to cover their mouths and soon Wells was leading the way, Clarke just behind him. The fire had yet to spread to the second floor but as they made their way down the stairs they could feel its heat growing. Turning out of the stairwell, they found a sight that made a cold shiver run up their backs despite the intense heat around them.  
  
The kitchen and common room were engulfed in flames, the bright red and yellow and orange hard to look at for more than a few seconds. Fire ate away at the tables and chairs and even made its way up the walls, a living and breathing entity. Bodies had passed out at some of the tables, slung over their surfaces and Clarke watched as the flames danced along clothing and skin as easily as it did everything else. Along with the smoke, the scent of burning meat and hair filled the air and for a second Clarke thought she would be sick again.  
  
“We can't... get out that... way,” Wells called between coughs, having to yell to be heard over the intense crackling of the fire around them. He pointed to the other side of the room where the door was, flames and burning beams of wood blocking their path. “This way!” she decided, grabbing his hand once again and tugging him back. Though the far side of the room was in ruins the fire had yet to spread much further so she led the way down another hall. She could practically feel the flames following them as though it were chasing them, and barged into the first room she could find. It was empty, its occupant probably already burning in the common room, and she looked around quickly, trying to squint through the smoke and tears clouding her sight. A small window had been carved out along the far wall and her heart almost burst with relief at finding it. It was up a little high and would be a tight fit, but it would have to do.  
  
Immediately Wells saw the same thing she did and scanned around the room. Finding a small table pushed up beside the bed in the corner he ran over to it, dropping his sword so he could easily grab and move it. Quickly he repositioned it beneath the window and then picked up his sword again, nodding to Clarke. “Go!”  
  
The table was a bit wobbly but held as she stepped up onto it, and he reached out his free hand to help steady her. Luckily for them the innkeeper hadn't been able to afford glass for his windows so all she had to do was pry the wooden shutters open. They required some yanking but finally they snapped back and she wormed her way through, throwing the sword she still held out first. She tumbled out of the window without anything that even resembled grace but couldn't care, barely noticing the dull pain when her side came into contact with the hard ground. She stood and grabbed her sword before moving out of the way, yelling for Wells to follow her. The window was almost too small for him to get through but after a good amount of wiggling and pulling he fell down as well. Still coughing they began running, putting as much distance between them and the burning inn as they possibly could.  
  
An hour later Clarke stared at the smoke she could still see rising up above the trees, every now and then a lick of orange lighting it up. That same smoke still coated her throat and nose and had her coughing every few minutes, but now at least there was a mile between them and it. Wells stood beside her, the two silent as they stared.  
  
“All those people...” she murmured, closing her eyes. The screams had started not long after they'd managed to get out. Apparently those not already dead had awoken from their drug-induced sleep only to find themselves in a hell no one could possibly imagine. Part of her had wanted to go back but the more sensible part knew it wouldn't have made any difference: by then the fire would have spread out so that it would be impossible to get in or out. She and Wells had only just managed to make it.  
  
“I know,” Wells whispered beside her. She opened her eyes and looked over to see his hands clenched into tight fists. “We'll get justice for them, Clarke. We'll go back to Arkadia and get a company of soldiers together. The men you saw couldn't have gotten far. We'll find them, and then they'll pay for what they did to those people. For what they did to... to your father.” She could hear the anguish in his voice as he finished, noticed the fresh tears out of the corner of her eyes, but for the moment at least she couldn't quite feel it. Something else was growing inside her, black and hollow and painful, and it pushed away anything else she could possibly feel right then.  
  
They'd said no witnesses. She and her father were clearly their targets but they had burned an entire inn down to the ground, killing dozens of people inside. Probably very few of those people had even seen them, especially depending on when they'd been drugged, so it hadn't been necessary. They could have killed her and her father and then slipped away and let everyone else live, but whoever had given them orders apparently couldn't take any chances. Even if these two men were found, Clarke knew they were just working for someone else; what would keep them from sending others? Clarke was a witness and now so was Wells, and she doubted whoever had set this all up would stop until they'd been taken care of.  
  
“...I'll lead the company myself. I won't rest until they're dead, Clarke. What they did to him, what they did to you... We'll find them and make them suffer for it.”  
  
“Yes,” she agreed quietly, breaking through his tirade. She could feel him turn to her, feel him watching her, but didn't look over at him. Something in her tone had changed and they both knew it, Wells studying her uncertainly while she resigned herself to the decision that would forever change her life. “We will find them Wells, but not with a company of soldiers.” She turned then, meeting his eyes in the moonlight, and saw him take an unconscious step back. He scanned her face, trying to read her expression in the dark, and then she continued. “We can't go back.”  
  
“To the inn?” he asked and she shook her head. “No, Arkadia. We can't go back to the Hills.”  
  
“Clarke,” he began but she cut him off. “They said no witnesses, Wells. Whoever they were working for was willing to burn an entire building full of people on the off chance any of them might have seen something. Even after drugging them.”  
  
“So we'll find them too,” Wells tried, “All of them, we'll find everyone who had anything to do with this and make them pay for it.”  
  
She nodded but wasn't swayed. He was right, they would all pay for this, but not in the way he was thinking. “If this person was willing to kill that many people just to get to my father, what do you think they'll do when they find out I'm alive?” she continued, trying to make him understand. “That you're alive? We're witnesses, Wells; I saw them, I know what they look like, what they sound like. I know what they did and that they were paid to do it. Do you really think they're going to just let me live?”  
  
“They won't get to you, Clarke,” he growled, his grip on his sword tightening, “I won't let them.”  
  
“They'll try though Wells, that's the point, and they won't care who else gets hurt along the way,” she insisted. “What if your father got hurt, or my mother? Do you really think we could make sure Bellamy and Octavia and Raven are safe? What about Madi?”  
  
The idea of anything happening to her little sister solidified her decision, adding a new steel to her voice. She would die before she ever let anything happen to Madi, even if that meant having to die right now. “I won't let it happen, Wells. I won't. I refuse.”  
  
His mouth opened and then closed, an argument likely dying on his lips before he could even put voice to it. He scanned her, reading the determination in her expression and certainty in her tone. Despite how much he hated what she was saying, how much he wanted to just hit her over the head and then carry her back to Arkadia if that's what it took, he understood. He hated it, despised what he was about to agree to, but finally nodded stiffly.  
  
“Okay,” he replied unhappily but Clarke could see the fight leave him, if just for the moment. “We don't go back.”  
  
“No,” she agreed, turning to stare back at the smoke pluming above the trees. “As of right now, Clarke Griffin is dead.”_

***

Clarke sat at the end of the bed, staring at the two men before her. Jenson's hair had been cut, not long enough to be pulled back anymore. Wells had stripped them of their weapons as soon as they were both unconscious but she was pretty sure the sword he took from him was the same one he'd had that night. Bennet had shaved his beard and now she could see that his scar ran all the way down his cheek to hook up under his chin. He'd probably gotten it while killing someone else's father; she would get revenge for them today too. Her knife laid beside her on the bed and her fingers itched to grab it but she waited, holding herself back. She could be patient for just a little bit longer.  
  
The two men she'd been hunting for ever since the night her father was murdered now sat in front of her, unconscious and tied tightly to a set of uncomfortable wooden chairs. She thought that was a little poetic and would have patted herself on the back for it if she could feel anything other than the simmering rage that flickered in her heart. A large linen sheet was laid out on the floor beneath their chairs in preparation for what would happen next. Neither Murphy or Emori had asked her why she wanted the extra sheets, had just handed them over. She figured they knew it was better just not to ask. Seedy things took place in Polis all the time, some of it even in their inn; it wasn't anything they weren't used to. Murphy had just mumbled about how she better clean up any mess she made and had gotten back to work. She could have told him she always cleaned up her own messes and that that was exactly what she was doing now but hadn't. Wells stood behind the two men, looking like the perfect soldier with his sword strapped to his side, and she wondered if he was as ready for this as she was. Glancing up to find him glaring into the back of their heads, she suspected he was.  
  
They waited silently, neither taking their eyes off of their captives until Jenson started to move, groaning as his head lifted. His fingers curled on the arm of the chair and Clarke watched them, waiting for the moment when he would realize what had happened. His shoulders shifted, arms trying to lift but the rope held them in place and a moment later his eyes finally opened, looking down at the chair. Clarke silently counted the seconds until he figured it out, knowing he finally had when he swore loudly. He looked up, seeing her watching them, and then glanced at his still unconscious comrade. He swore a second time and then tried to lean over, the chair shifting slightly against the sheet. “Wake up idiot!”  
  
Bennet growled as he woke up, his eyes scrunching up into a glare before they'd even opened. “Fuck, my head. It's fucking pounding.”  
  
“That's what happens when you get hit with the hilt of a weapon,” Clarke said mildly, not moving from the bed. He clearly had forgotten what had happened and hadn't been expecting a woman's voice because the moment she started talking his eyes flew open, head lifting to look straight at her. She met his eyes and watched as he scanned her face, clearly trying to place it. To help she pointed to the scar above her left temple, the thin white line barely visible. “It hurts and makes your head pound, but don't worry, at least you won't be getting a scar from it.”  
  
“You...” he began, still scanning her face and she could see the surprise as he finally recognized her. “Yer supposed to be dead. We fucking killed you!”  
  
“You left me to burn,” she corrected him, her voice cold steel, “after you murdered my father.”  
  
“We saw the inn burn down,” Jenson growled, shaking his head. “There's no way you got out...” She nodded behind them, for the first time since they woke up looking anywhere but at them. They both turned as much as they could in their chairs, realizing they weren't alone. Wells met their look with a cold glare, his jaw set in a hard line. “I got lucky,” she informed them, doing her best to keep her tone light. “My friend doesn't eat well when he travels so your drug didn't knock him out quite like everyone else. He found me and saved me. We've been looking for you two ever since.”  
  
Jenson turned on Bennet, glaring as his fingers curled into tight fists. “Idiot! We should've killed her but you wanted her to burn!”  
  
“How the hell was I supposed to know she'd get away?” Bennet demanded, returning the look with a glare of his own. “It was yer drug that didn't work!” They bickered back and forth for a moment and Clarke let them before she shifted on the bed. The slight movement caught both of their attention and they went quiet, turning their glares back on her.  
  
“You fucked up,” she told them with a shrug, “and now you know it. What I want to know is who paid you.”  
  
Bennet scoffed, a cruel smirk pulling at his mouth. “We're not telling you nothing, bitch.” Behind him Wells's eyes flashed and he stepped forward, one hand darting out to cuff the back of his head harshly. “Watch your mouth,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “You're talking to Lady Clarke Griffin.”  
  
It was Jenson's turn to scoff, an eyebrow rising up. “Looks to me like we're talking to nothing but a common whore.” Wells's hand came down again, this time on him, but the man barely flinched, not so much as glancing away from Clarke.  
  
For her part she didn't show any kind of reaction to their words. She just looked at them mildly, telling them, “Do you think that's going to offend me? I've been called worse by better.” She stood then, her hand trailing to the side and hovering over her knife before lifting it and she almost smiled as their eyes dropped to it, the smirks gone. “I'm actually a very good whore and have had some high-paying customers lately, so I was able to buy out this entire floor and the one above us. So when you start screaming the only people who might hear you are the drunkards downstairs, and they're too busy with their dice to care about anything else. So.” She took a step closer to them. “You're going to tell me who paid you to kill my father, or you're going to start screaming.”  
  
“You don't scare us,” Bennet told her, sneering.  
  
“She will,” Wells muttered from behind them and Clarke glanced over to him. He looked up to meet her eyes and nodded, expression set, and she returned it with her own. Looking back down at the two men between them she let herself think back to the night they'd met, the night they'd changed her life forever and felt a familiar fury grow in her chest. Holding on to the heat of her anger she moved with no warning, smashing the butt of her knife into the knuckle of one Bennet's middle fingers. She could feel the bone crush beneath the blow and then the man was screaming curses.  
  
“Fuck! Fucking bitch! I'm gonna fucking kill you!”  
  
“Who paid you to kill me and my father?” she demanded, grabbing a handful of his hair with her free hand and wrenching his head back. He thrashed beneath her, trying to yank out of her grasp but she just held on tighter, a few strands of hair ripping out of his head. “Tell me who!”  
  
“When I get loose I'm gonna fucking kill you and this time it'll stick!” he threatened, arms yanking against his ropes. “Yer gonna wish you'd died in that fire when I get my hands on you!”  
  
“Idiot,” Clarke growled softly, “you're not getting out of here.” Her grip on his hair tightened more and she wrenched his head back a little further, not looking away from the glare he gave her. “You're going to die tonight, the question is just how long it's going to take. That's entirely up to you.” He spat in her face and she barely flinched. This time she flipped the knife over and tapped its tip lightly to the skin between his thumb and forefinger. She could see a scar in the shape of a crescent, an impression of her own bite and for a split second she could have sworn she tasted blood again. “At least I gave you something to remember me by last time.” He thrashed in his chair but couldn't go anywhere, so when the tip of her knife came down and plunged into the same spot where her teeth had once been all he could do was howl, his head snapping back from the pain. Clarke watched him for a second and then drew the knife back in a sharp jerk before turning to Jenson. “Maybe you're feeling more talkative.”  
  
“Killing us ain't gonna help you,” he told her as he met her cold stare. “Even if we told you something, you'll never be able to get to him.”  
  
“I'm very resourceful,” she just said, stepping over to him. She held a tight grip on the knife but didn't move it towards him, waiting to see if she could get anything out of him without it. “Let me worry about that.” He just met her look with a scowl and she decided to see if she could coax the information out of him. “I know he's a noble. Just tell me which one and this can be over.” Surprise flashed across his face but she didn't give herself credit for the correct guess: it was the only thing that made sense, and confirmation from them didn't matter unless she got an actual name. Unfortunately it didn't look like either of them were quite ready to give that information up yet, Jenson now meeting her look with a clenched jaw and Bennet glaring daggers at her as his hand continued to bleed beside her. Mentally she shrugged; if they wanted to keep going then she would keep going.  
  
She didn't start with the fingers with Jenson. Instead she brought the hilt of her knife down against the center of the back of his hand, multiple bones crushing beneath the force of the blow. When he just hissed from the pain she turned the knife around and pressed the sharp edge to the crook of his elbow.  
  
“Did you know my mother was trained as a healer?” she asked them, looking from Jenson to Bennet and back again. “She was the second daughter in her family but I guess her parents thought it would make her a better candidate for a wife for some nobleman.” She shrugged then, trying to look unaffected as she spoke. “I don't know if that's part of the reason my father married her; I'll probably never know.” She pressed a little harder on the knife, the pressure now just enough to break the skin but not do much else. After a second blood began to seep into the sleeve of his dirty shirt, growing the longer she held the knife there. “What I do know is everything she taught me about healing. The places that will cause a person to bleed out the fastest, and the others that would make it a slow, painful death.” She let out a low, humorless laugh. “I don't think this is why she taught me all that, but it'll certainly be helpful.” When they both continued to remain silent she increased the pressure on her knife, it's blade beginning to slip further into Jenson's arm. The stain on his sleeve grew until enough blood had pooled in the cup of his elbow to spread outwards, vines of the red streaking down his sleeve and staining the fabric.  
  
The man held out for another few seconds, sweat dripping down his forehead, until Clarke could practically feel him give in.  
  
“We don't know his name,” he growled between clenched teeth. His head fell back a bit and he glared up at her, telling her, “We never met him. The noble. We jest met someone who worked for him, a soldier. He's the one that paid us.”  
  
“A knight?” Wells asked, stepping up closer and Jenson shook his head. “No, no knight, jest a soldier, but he musta been close to the guy to be trusted like he was. Any time the other guy had a job for us, this guy gave us the instructions and the money.”  
  
“A name,” Clarke insisted, bearing down on the knife and the man flinched beneath her, gritting his teeth. “Emerson!” he told them, “Jest Emerson! That's all we know! He's the one we talked to!”  
  
Clarke jerked the knife from his arm and stepped back, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the weapon over and over. It wasn't exactly what they'd been hoping for but it was something. She wracked her brain trying to see if she could place the name but came up empty. If she'd ever heard the name Emerson before it hadn't been a memorable encounter. She would remember it now though, and once she found him she'd be that much closer to finding his master.  
  
The thoughts whirled around her head in less than a second, storing the information away to go over further when she had the time. For now she turned back to the two men tied up in front of her, knowing exactly what to do with them. They'd given her the little information they had and she could tell from the way Bennet was glaring at her and Jenson was frowning that they didn't have anymore which meant she was done with them. Looking past them she nodded to Wells who returned the nod before grabbing the back of Jenson's chair and shoving it to the floor, the man toppling over with it.  
  
Glancing over to Bennet who was watching his friend now on the floor with bulging eyes, she told him quietly, “Just so you know, you were always going to have to watch this.” Looking back over at Wells, she stated more clearly, “I want his head.” He nodded swiftly once and then lifted his sword as he positioned himself above the man on the ground. With just one more glance down at the man staring up at him Wells brought his sword down in an easy arc, enough force behind the blow that Jenson's head easily detached from his body without any trouble. Bennet's nose flared but he didn't say anything, just glared at Clarke. For her part she flexed her wrist, the knife moving with it as she moved to place herself in front of the man with a scar on his face and hate in his eyes. She met those eyes with her own hate, feeling it all well up inside her and then she was stabbing him, the knife plunging into his chest once before she tore it out and then a second, a third, a fourth and final time. Each time Bennet grunted loudly, pulling against his ropes but they held him in place. After the fourth stab Clarke stepped back, her knife still buried in the man's chest, and she just watched as blood pooled out of the fresh wounds, staining his shirt until it was almost black. His breath turned raspy and shallow, chest heaving, and it took multiple minutes for it to finally stop. When he did finally stop breathing he was still staring at Clarke, the same hate still in his eyes.  
  
For a few minutes she stared at the two bodies, not entirely sure what she felt. There was relief, certainly, and a sense of satisfaction knowing that the monsters who had killed her father and an inn full of people were dead, but beneath that was aggravation. Aggravation because they were dead but she still didn't feel like she was any closer to the man who pulled all the strings. Now she had a name but it wasn't _the_ name, the name that would bring this all to an end but just one more piece of this puzzle she couldn't seem to solve. It frustrated her, this never ending feeling of not knowing, but she swore to herself she would get to the bottom of it all. No matter how many people stood between her and the master behind everything, eventually she would find him and make him pay for all the suffering he had caused.  
  
“Clarke?” she heard, and had to shake her head to get herself out of her own thoughts. At some point Wells had stepped around the bodies and now stood beside her, one hand lightly on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” she told him, pulling away. “Yeah, I'm fine.” She looked down, noticing that her left hand was covered in blood and there were a few smears on her right hand and shook her head again. “Come on,” she just said, turning around and moving to the where she'd placed the rest of the stack of extra sheets beside the bed, “we have to get this all cleaned up.” He nodded and then got to work with her, the two cutting the ropes holding the bodies to the chairs and then carefully rolling them up in the sheets. It wasn't perfect work but it would have to do for the moment, and then they moved over to the privy, taking out the basin of soapy water they'd had sent to the room before Bennet and Jenson had shown up. Together they scrubbed at the floor and the chairs, doing their best to get rid of any evidence of what had just taken place, and then they cleaned themselves up, Clarke changing into an extra dress she'd brought once her skin was clean.  
  
Together they moved first one body out of the room and then the other, using the Dropship's hidden staircase normally trafficked by servants and whores to get them out without others seeing. Wells had already arranged to have a cart out back behind the inn waiting for them and quickly and quietly they stuffed the bodies among a few bales of hay. Clarke rearranged the bales to hide the sheets and then stepped back as Wells pulled himself up into the driver's seat, a horse already hitched to the cart.  
  
“I'll take them out of town and to the river,” he informed her as he settled himself on the hard bench, glancing around them. They were hiding in plain sight in a little niche in the back alley, but clearly he worried about someone seeing them. “Tomorrow I'll start asking around to see if I can find anything out about this Emerson person. We'll meet again in a couple of days.”  
  
Clarke looked up at him, only seeing his profile in the dim lighting and her heart broke a little. She could so easily remember the days when he talked about nothing but being a knight and then becoming the lord to his own fief, and seeing what she'd turned him into instead struck a chord of guilt in her much more fiercely than the murder she'd just committed could have. It was her fault he was sneaking around dark alleys to dispose of bodies instead of winning his knighthood and for some reason in this moment she just couldn't shake that guilt.  
  
“Wells...” she began but trailed off, not knowing what she wanted to say. He seemed to hear whatever it was in her tone though because he looked at her, brow furrowing before his expression entirely cleared. He smiled then, reaching down and she mirrored the movement until she felt his hand in hers. “We're almost there, Clarke,” he murmured, doing his best to reassure her. His grip on her hand tightened as he continued, “We got Jenson and Bennet, we'll find this Emerson guy, and then we'll have their master. We can do it. _You_ can do it.”  
  
Slowly she nodded, the words lifting her guilt, if only slightly. They would finish what they started and then he could go home, return to the life he deserved: she would make sure of it. She felt herself returning his smile and then his grip before nodding. “We can.” He gave her one last smile before releasing her hand and then turned his attention to the horse and the next moment he and the bodies in the back of the wagon were leaving her behind, heading down the alley and then turning into a busy street.  
  
Clarke didn't stay there long wondering if he would make it to the river without anyone noticing his cargo; she doubted anyone would care enough about the hay to stop him and see what else was in the wagon. She didn't bother going back into the Dropship, knowing Emori and Murphy wouldn't be expecting her, and instead slipped out of the alley to begin making her way home. Her knife was once again tucked away into the hidden pocket of her dress and she kept one eye out for any trouble, but most of her attention was on what they had just done and what she'd learned. She felt like she was dehydrated and someone had only given her a tiny sip of water before pulling the rest away and moving it just out of her reach. Finally she'd gotten a taste of the revenge she craved but there was still more waiting for her and she began planning ways to try to find this Emerson, to solve the rest of the puzzle.  
  
Whether everyone she passed was too busy to bother her or she looked as dangerous as she felt, no one tried to give her any trouble during her mile walk back to The Rig and soon she was walking into the building that had become her home, the usual noises dim as she continued to focus on nothing but her thoughts.  
  
“Clarke,” she heard Luna say as she went to pass her mistress's desk, and she had to force herself to focus on where she was. Lifting an eyebrow at the other woman she turned to her, only to find her mistress already nodding to the wall across from her. “You have a visitor.” She frowned, knowing Luna was fully aware she had no plans to work that night, and turned to see who it was. For a second she was sure her brain must have short-circuited or that she was hallucinating, and she had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn't in fact seeing things. No matter how many times she blinked though the figure never changed, never shifted, and her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open.  
  
The queen stood by the wall, looking entirely out of place in the whorehouse, and for a moment Clarke thought maybe what she'd just done had finally driven her mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how much I absolutely love reading through your comments? You are all the best readers, and I love when you comment with theories of what's going to happen or what you hope happens, or even just that you're enjoying the story; that is absolutely _exactly_ what every writer hopes to get and I'm honored that so many of you are taking the time to do that for my story! I know I don't always respond, but please know that I read every single one and they make me so very happy!
> 
> Also, I've laid out a basic timeline for myself with this story, and it looks like it's going to be anywhere from 25 to 30 chapters long, so it will take a little longer for me to finish than I had originally intended it to, but I should (hopefully) be able to keep updating twice a week without any problem. I am really, _really_ sorry to anyone waiting for an update on one of my other stories, but I hope this is able to tide you over until I can get back into them! Thanks for your patience, friends!


	8. Chapter Eight

The sound of wrinkling parchment filled the room as Lexa, Anya and Titus went through scrolls and letters, various types of messages that had made their way to the palace over the past few days. Normally Aden would be with them, both Lexa and Titus knowing the heir should be just as used to combing through information as the queen, but earlier that evening he'd had to have dinner with their aunt alone so Lexa had given him the rest of the night to his self. She figured that was the least she could do for him.  
  
“Lord Nyko writes that he'll be arriving within three days,” Titus stated, dropping one letter on the table in front of him only to pick up another.  
  
“Make sure the kitchen has the stew he loves prepared,” Lexa replied, not looking up from her own scroll. She'd been staring at it for a few minutes now and still had no idea what it said, her mind wandering. “He'll appreciate it after his long journey.” The Lord of the Blue Cliffs lived further west than just about any other family, and she knew the road he would have followed to get from his home to the capitol was not the easiest. Titus nodded as he picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink bottle on the table beside him, and added it to a list he'd been making as the evening wore on.  
  
“Looks like the Sydneys will be here by the end of the week too,” Anya told them from the other end of the table, leaning back in her chair with her feet up on another. She looked like the picture of laid back comfort, more like a lazy steward in this moment than anything else. Anyone else might assume the position would make her less of a threat than usual, but Lexa knew better. At the slightest hint of trouble she knew Anya would be on her feet with her sword in one hand and dagger in the other, once again the lethal knight she was. The queen always liked seeing her relaxed like this though, fully aware of just how much she deserved the few moments of calm.  
  
“With Nyko and Diana here we'll have a representative from each of the thirteen houses,” Lexa remarked lightly, eyebrows raising a little in interest. Titus sat back in his chair, brow pulling down as he said, “Not the heads of all the houses though. Does the letter say anything about when the Griffins will get here?”  
  
Anya shook her head, tossing the letter she'd been reading off of to the table. “No, it's from Diana, not Abigail. Maybe Diana will know when her lady will be joining us.” Titus shook his head, clearly not impressed. “The heads of the houses should all have arrived by now. Nyko had many more miles to go and even he's going to be here before the Griffins.”  
  
“They'll be here. Lady Griffin doesn't like to travel,” Lexa murmured, eyes closing for a second while her fingers moved to rub along her forehead. To her right Anya scoffed, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Well can you blame her?” she asked, looking down at Diana's letter. “Seven years ago her husband and oldest daughter went on a little trip and ended up burning in an inn. I wouldn't want to travel after that either.” Titus seemed to give in a little at that, picking the scroll he'd been reading back up and said offhandedly, “We're just lucky the younger daughter wasn't with them also. Arkadia would have broken apart in their own civil war without a true Griffin still leading them. Abigail has done well but the lesser families likely would have rebelled if they'd just been left with a woman who'd married into the family.”  
  
Anya mumbled an agreement across the table, her attention already on something new, but Lexa couldn't help but frown thinking about the young Lady Griffin. Madelaine had only been six when her father and sister died; she wondered if she could even really remember them. At least Lexa had been ten when her mother passed and hadn't lost her father until a full year later so she had memories of them both. Aden didn't but every now and then as he'd been growing up she'd told him about them, trying her best to describe the parents he'd never known. Did Abigail tell her daughter about her father and sister, or were the memories too painful? How scared had the little girl been when she realized the fate of her house and their people now rested on her shoulders? Lexa could still remember the terror she'd felt the first time she had to sit on the throne by herself, feeling dwarfed by the chair and everything around her. Madelaine had been cheated out of a childhood much sooner than she had been and her mother had lost her husband and child; though she could never show it, Lexa's heart bled for them.  
  
For another few minutes the three sat in relative silence, each muttering some new piece of news to grunts or nods from the others, and the queen sat carefully in her chair. Her back was straight but her shoulders drooped a little, just barely curling in on herself. When she finally put down the scroll she'd been staring at to pick up another she once again rubbed at her forehead, trying to be subtle with the motion. She couldn't overdo this or Anya would never fall for it. Titus might though that was debatable, but anything over the top would have her best friend suspicious in a second. With that in mind she eyed over the new scroll for a minute or two before leaning forward a little, one elbow coming up to rest on the table and head resting against her fingertips. As she'd suspected Anya noticed the shift, an eyebrow cocking up as she gave her a look.  
  
“What's wrong with you?” she demanded and out of the corner of her eye Lexa saw Titus look up, clearly surprised to see her leaning over the table. It certainly wasn't her usual posture so she sat back up, spine once again straightening and elbow dropping back to her side.  
  
“Nothing,” she replied easily, pretending to ignore her friend's look. A noise coming from the back of Anya's throat told them she didn't believe her and Lexa let out a small sigh as though she'd been found out. “I have a headache, that's all. Go back to whatever you're reading.”  
  
“Maybe you should get some rest, Your Majesty,” Titus suggested, giving her a pointed look. “Now isn't the time to come down with anything, not when most of the houses are finally here.”  
  
“I'm fine,” she insisted, staring at the scroll she held as though she thought it too important to put down when in reality she couldn't begin to guess what it was about since all she'd done was read the first sentence a couple dozen times. Anya shook her head, loudly pushing her chair back and stood up, dropping the parchment she'd been holding to the table.  
  
“Titus is right, you can't afford to get sick now,” she stated, circling the table and plucking the scroll from Lexa's hands. Dropping it along with the others she then grabbed Lexa's chair and pulled it back, all but bullying the queen out of it. “Come on, this will all still be waiting for you tomorrow.” She met her friend's eyes and then let out another sigh, shaking her head even as she stood up. Titus followed them, his chair scraping against the floor as he told them, “I'll put these away for now, Your Majesty. Anya is right, we can finish going over everything tomorrow.”  
  
“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly, making extra sure her thoughts didn't reflect on her face. She could have grinned at how well this was going but knew that certainly would have caused suspicion so just nodded, lips pursed in a straight line. “I am expected to have breakfast with my aunt tomorrow so I'll be by before then.” He nodded as he began to tidy up the papers and then Anya led the way out of the room, Lexa trailing just a step behind her.  
  
“I hope Aden isn't joining you for breakfast,” Anya said as they began down the hall that would lead to the queen's bedchambers. “Nobody should have to sacrifice two perfectly good meals in a row to the Ice Queen.” Lexa's lips twitched at her friend's nickname for her aunt, created years ago as a reflection of her frosty disposition. “No,” she replied, “breakfast will just be me and Nia. Possibly Roan as well. Though knowing her Ontari will be there too.”  
  
Ontari was her aunt's little pet, an adoptive daughter of sorts. She'd been the second daughter of one of the Ice Nation's lesser houses but became Nia's ward almost ten years ago and ever since then Ontari had done everything Nia told her to. Now a fully fledged knight, she was also the duchess's personal guard.  
  
“Sounds like a real family gathering,” Anya muttered, even coming close to rolling her eyes. “I'm sure it will be a lovely meal where you talk about how much you all miss each other when you're apart and how you really should visit more often.” Lexa couldn't quite hold back a single, soft laugh as her eyebrows rose. “I'm sure. It will be just like your own family gatherings.” The other woman let out a noise from the back of her throat, expression barely changing. Even though Anya's parents and younger sister had arrived for the summer, they still barely ever saw each other. Her mother hadn't wanted her oldest daughter to become a knight, had hated the idea in fact, and had practically disowned her when Anya did it anyway. Her father listened to everything his wife said without hesitation and had agreed. Now despite the almost fifteen year age difference between them, the parents were grooming their younger daughter Tris to inherit the family title. Anya could care less and had stated so to Lexa many times, far happier with a sword in her hand than a title and husband stuck at her side. The queen had never told her best friend how much she envied her the freedom she'd managed to find for herself, but she thought maybe Anya knew anyway.  
  
Without much more conversation the two made their way through the hallways and stairwells to the queen's rooms, the two Guards posted outside the doors bowing the moment they saw her. Anya bid her goodnight, telling her to get some rest and Lexa returned the sentiment before slipping into her room and closing the door behind her. Once inside with the door shut firmly behind her she let the smile she'd been very carefully holding back grow as it had wanted to all night. So far her plan was coming along just as she'd hoped it would.  
  
Queen Alexandria was not someone to sit idly back when others told her she couldn't do something. Clarke had told her she couldn't possibly understand what life was like for commoners and then Lincoln and Anya had both clearly agreed with that statement and she was determined to prove them all wrong. Maybe she didn't understand them as well as she'd believed but that could be remedied, just so long as no one else knew what she was doing. Titus would likely have a heart attack if he knew what she planned and Anya would tie her to her throne and refuse to let her loose for days, but once she'd started thinking about this she just couldn't stop. She needed to understand what Clarke had been looking for and not found in her that night almost a week ago, and the only way she could think to do that was to see the world from her perspective.  
  
It was a delicate plan, and one she couldn't rush. She took her time in her room, changing out of the quality breeches and tunic she'd been wearing and into another pair of breeches that were clearly meant more for comfort. On her upper half she changed into a loose black shirt, feeling far more free in it than she had in the tunic. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and waited, letting the minutes slip by as anticipation pooled in her gut. Her nerves hummed and her heart beat steadily if not a bit more quickly than usual, and she counted down the seconds.  
  
When a full half hour had gone by she stood back up and made her way back to the door. Opening it she found the same two Guards there, one turning a little to look at her curiously while the other forced himself to remain facing forward. She rolled her neck casually before she told them, “If your shift change comes before I've returned, tell them I'm in the library.”  
  
The one who'd looked back at her, an older man named Hayes, smiled at her knowingly. “Can't sleep, Your Majesty?” She just met his look, letting her mouth turn up into a half smile as though he'd guessed right and he shook his head. “Don't worry Your Majesty, happens to the best of us. If you're not back by the time the next shift arrives, we'll let 'em know where you are.”  
  
Luckily for her she'd fallen asleep among the books in the palace library enough times that no one would think it suspicious if she wasn't back in an hour or two. She nodded her thanks to them and then calmly made her way down the hall, her hands hooking behind her back in her usual stance.  
  
Out of sight of the Guards, she didn't make her way down the hallway that would lead to the library. Instead she turned in the other direction, heading down to the ground floor of the palace. She had to make sure her pace never changed and that her posture never shifted, passing any number of people on the way. No one stopped to question where she was going or why she was up, just bowed or curtsied and let her be on her way. Even so the closer she got to her destination the harder her heart beat against her chest, both invigorated and anxious by this – honestly probably foolish – plan of hers. On the ground floor there was a small storage room that held sacks of flour and grain and any number of other items needed for cooking for an entire palace of people and she slipped inside it, making sure not a single person saw her. At the back of the room she moved around a few bags of the flour, finding the long dark cloak and sword and dagger she'd managed to hide the day before when no one was around. Quickly she donned the cloak and attached both sword and dagger to her belt, pulling the hood up over her head to hide her face. She listened at the doorway for any sound of movement in the hall and then peaked around the door frame and only once she knew the coast was clear did she leave, holding the cloak tightly around her.  
  
For her safety and the safety of the other residents that lived in her palace, its main entrance was always heavily guarded. The vast majority of people who moved about the great structure entered through the main entrance and were subjected to Palace Guard scrutiny before they were allowed to enter. Lexa knew even late at night she would have no chance of getting through the gate without being recognized and stopped, so she never planned to leave that way. There was one other way to easily get in and out of the palace, and that was through the kitchen. Shipments came in so often and were so large that having to accept them through the front gate made no sense, so instead they were driven around to the back and accepted there. This entrance was seldom guarded, especially at night when no shipments were expected, so it was this door Lexa planned to go through.  
  
The kitchen was only a few short steps further down the hall, but by the time Lexa got to it her heart was pounding in her ears. If she got caught she could of course always say she'd gotten hungry but nobody would believe it. In a palace full of servants, the queen would never have to make the trip to the kitchen herself, and the sword and cloak made it clear she intended to leave. Her friends would call her crazy and the nobles would stare and whisper behind her back when they heard what she'd tried to do, but she couldn't make herself turn around. She had to try to find out what had made Clarke look at her in that way, and this was how she was going to do it. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the kitchen.  
  
After playing her great escape out over and over in her head, the reality was a little disappointing. This late at night there were only a few people in the kitchen still cleaning up after dinner or preparing for the next day's meals, and apparently none of them could spare much of a glance to the woman walking through the room in a cloak. Lexa had never really spent any time in the kitchen, only even been in it a handful of times, so the one or two workers who did bother to look up as she passed by didn't immediately recognize her as she'd feared they would. Without any problems she made it to the back of the room and slipped out the door using the set of master keys hanging from her belt. She'd never needed a key to this particular door before but the moment it swung open she felt a rush not quite like any she'd experienced before, knowing she'd just found her new favorite door. She closed and locked it behind her and turned around, and just like that she was alone outside the palace for the first time in her life.  
  
Leaving the palace and making her way into the city was nearly as stressful as getting out had been. One hand remained on her hood, making sure it stayed over her face until her home was far behind her. Every person she passed she tried to shift away from, afraid they would somehow recognize her but no one did. Soon the palace was well behind her and she was making her way into the city, and only then did she let her hand drop down to her side.  
  
The noises of the city were the same as every other time she'd traveled through it, if not a little louder. Everything else though was different. To her utter shock, people bumped into her as she walked down the street. They didn't keep their distance, didn't move out of her way the moment they saw her, but just kept going, many not caring if they bumped her and even glaring or shouting at her to watch where she was going. Nobody looked at her with reverence or fear, many barely looked at her at all, and it occurred to her she wasn't used to being ignored. She couldn't decide if she liked it or not.  
  
As she kept walking, not everyone she passed ignored her. She could see some people eyeing her, most moving on as she went by them, but as she made her way down a busy street two men caught her eye, theirs already on her. Their eyes raked over her and she frowned, not caring for it at all. Still she tried to ignore it, tried to put it out of her mind until they fell into step behind her, clearly following her. Beneath her cloak one hand went to her sword, gripping it lightly, and when she saw one of the men reaching towards her out of the corner of her eye she drew it in a single fluid motion, its tip easily settling only inches away from the man's throat. He and his friend immediately went still, their eyes wide.  
  
“Whatever you were thinking, don't,” she warned, hard eyes watching them. The man with her sword at his throat shook his head emphatically, saying quickly, “We wasn't thinkin' nothin' m'lady, honest. We was jest curious what a lady like yerself was doing down here is all, thought maybe we might be able to help yas.” His friend nodded in agreement, eyes still wide as they glanced between the sword and her hard expression.  
  
Clearly they thought her a noble of some kind; that was good enough for Lexa. She glanced around her, suddenly aware she had no idea where she was actually going. Clarke had told her once the name of the house she worked for and she wracked her brain for a moment trying to remember it. When she did she looked back at the two of them, telling them, “You can help me, actually. I'm looking for someone but don't really know where I'm going. Can you point me towards The Rig?”  
  
Apparently the house Clarke worked out of was well known. Instantly their expressions changed, smirks pulling at their mouths. “Who ya lookin' fer at The Rig?” the second man wanted to know and Lexa turned her hard stare on him before shifting her sword to point at him as well and his smirk wiped away. “That's my business,” she informed them, the lines of her mouth hard. “Do you know how I can get there or not?”  
  
They gave her directions and then bolted and she let them, only re-sheathing her sword once they'd fled. For her own peace of mind she made sure her hood was once again securely in place and then turned to try to follow the directions they'd given her. She made two wrong turns and almost walked right by the correct street, but finally she found herself standing in front of a four-story building with a large wooden sign hanging off the front of it, _The Rig_ carved in big blocky letters. She swallowed once, her throat suddenly dry with the swarm of nerves that flooded through her, and then stepped forward, walking through the already open door.  
  
Even just inside the doorway, the noises Lexa heard upon entering the building nearly had her cheeks turning red. She couldn't yet see anything but she could certainly hear it, moans and the slapping of skin against skin echoing into the front room. Two men stood leaning back against one wall, one with his arms crossed over his front and the other staring lecherously at a scantily dressed woman leaning against the desk at the opposite side of the room. A third man stood just off the side of the desk but while it was clear the first two were waiting to be seen into the house, it was equally clear that this man wasn't. Lexa saw the handle of what she assumed would be an impressive looking sword sticking up over his left shoulder, and his stance made her think of any number of fighters she knew.  
  
“Can I help you?” a voice asked, and Lexa looked away from the man to a woman sitting behind the desk. Her long messy hair was dark at its roots but flashed shades of auburn as it continued, and she stared at Lexa with dark eyes that seemed to look right through her.  
  
“I'm... looking for someone,” she replied hesitantly, stepping towards the desk. The woman behind it eyed her over before telling her, “We have a lot of someones here. Who are you looking for?”  
  
“If you wanted to look for me, I'd be fine with it,” the woman leaning against the desk informed her, an impressed grin tugging at her lips. She looked Lexa up and down, her light brown eyes trailing from her face still partially hidden by her hood to her shoulders and everything below. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a single thick braid that hung over one shoulder, its end hanging tantalizingly between the swell of her breasts that peaked out from the cut of her tan robe. Lexa was careful not to stare at the bit of bare flesh, fully aware she would have to be careful with where she looked in this place if she didn't want to get caught staring at something entirely inappropriate. Though from the tilt of the woman's smirk, she guessed she wore her robe like that very purposefully.  
  
“Thank you, but unfortunately I'm looking for someone else,” she told her politely. She debated for a second and then reached up and pushed her hood back. It wasn't likely she'd see anyone she recognized here, and if she did she doubted they would necessarily recognize her. “The woman I'm looking for is named Clarke Blake.”  
  
To her surprise, the woman's grin just grew. “Ahh, so you're one of Clarke's nobles,” she guessed, now fully focused on the queen's face. She looked at it for a second and then let out a wistful sigh. “If you're all so attractive, I really need to convince her to start sharing better.”  
  
“Harper, take Master Koner upstairs to room six please,” the woman behind the desk said suddenly, not taking her eyes off of Lexa. The blonde sighed wistfully and then gave Lexa a wink before pushing off the desk and walking by her. “So Master Koner, are you ready for a fun night?” she asked and the man who had just been trying to peer further into the house grinned before following her down the hall towards the stairs.  
  
The woman behind the desk – it had to be Clarke's mistress, the woman who ran The Rig – didn't look away from Lexa even as the two disappeared. “Clarke isn't working tonight,” she informed her, her tone even. “You'll have to come back tomorrow to see her.”  
  
“I'm not here for...” Lexa began, knowing what she must be thinking. She cleared her throat after she trailed off, not really sure how to think with the sounds still coming from the rest of the house. “I was just hoping to talk with her, not anything else.”  
  
One of the woman's eyebrows quirked, the most surprise Lexa guessed she ever showed. “That may be the case, but I still can't help you. Clarke isn't here at the moment.”  
  
The queen frowned, her gut sinking. This had not been part of the plan. “Do you know when she'll be back? I don't mind waiting.” The mistress of The Rig studied her for a second before telling her, “I don't know when, but I don't care if you wait. Stand over there.” She nodded back towards the wall where the remaining man still stood and Lexa returned the nod before doing as she'd been told.  
  
Waiting turned out to be more difficult than she'd thought it would be. People kept walking in and out of the building, many of them as scantily clad as the woman earlier – Harper, The Rig's mistress had called her – had been. Women and men in nothing more than thin robes walked by her, the vast majority looking at her curiously from the corner of their eyes if not out-right staring, and she had to do her best not to stare back. She ended up with her head tilted back so she had to look up at the ceiling, but that wasn't much better: creaking and moaning wafted down between the floorboards to mix with the similar sounds coming from the rooms on this first floor, and Lexa didn't like the way her mouth remained dry no matter how many times she tried to swallow. She was used to mayhem, something going wrong on a daily basis in the palace, but this was a kind of busyness she'd never thought she would experience and it was nerve-wracking to say the least. To try to distract herself from the sights and sounds around her she went through lists in her head, starting with what nobles had already arrived to Polis and who had yet to get there, and then moving on to the different kinds of feasts she would have prepared for each of her gatherings. Then of course there were the meetings with each individual head of house she would need to schedule so that they could each feel as though she'd given them a fair share of her time. All in all she had plenty of things to think about and keep her occupied, even if every now and then an especially loud groan or slap of skin from down the hall would break through those thoughts to try to make her blush.  
  
No matter how deep into her lists her mind went, any time a person walked through the front door she looked to them, always hoping it would be Clarke. For what felt like a long time none of them were, instead all men and a few women who clearly had decided they required a certain kind of entertainment before they could go about their night. Many of them eyed Lexa against the wall, scanning her over but she ignored them and soon they'd been seen into the house, young half-naked men and women leading them away. Finally another figure entered and she felt her lips turn up, recognizing the head of burgundy hair anywhere.  
  
Clarke seemed to be distracted by something as she stepped through the doorway, not seeing Lexa right away, but Lexa certainly saw her and if her throat had been dry before it was nothing compared to now. The younger woman's hair hung easily over her shoulders, looking messier than the queen had ever seen it but she thought the waves and slight curls suited her. She wore a simple cream colored dress, definitely of lower quality than any of the ones she'd worn to the palace but even it seemed to hug every one of her curves perfectly, the hem of the dress sweeping out around her feet as she walked. As always the neckline was cut dangerously low and Lexa wondered if she even owned anything that covered much of her chest, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of her mind that hoped she didn't. Tonight she wasn't wearing the pendant the brunette usually saw her with, and she wondered if that piece of jewelry was only worn to impress her higher ranked companions. From what Lexa had seen of it, it certainly seemed to be good quality silver and the blue stone in it had looked expensive, not an ordinary trinket just anyone would have.  
  
As Clarke walked into The Rig Lexa didn't know what to say to get her attention. She didn't want to startle her but it was clear that she was going to walk right by without even noticing her. The house's mistress seemed to notice the same thing and spoke up before the queen could find her voice.  
  
“Clarke,” she said, getting the redhead's attention. When she looked over at her she nodded towards the far wall where Lexa was still standing. “You have a visitor.” The queen watched Clarke turn, already frowning before she even noticed her, and then when the younger woman saw her she started blinking, as though she were trying to clear her vision. Finally she must have realized she wasn't seeing things because her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as Lexa stepped away from the wall. 

***

The queen was in The Rig.  
  
Clarke couldn't entirely believe what she was seeing, but no matter how many times she tried to refocus her vision, sure she couldn't _actually_ be there, there she was. She even started moving, stepping away from the wall, and Clarke could have sworn she saw the flicker of a smug smile briefly tug at the corners of her mouth. Apparently she was impressed with herself for making the other woman speechless, but Clarke's mind just couldn't even begin to process what was happening.  
  
“Y-” she began, finally getting her voice to work and had to immediately cut herself off. “You. What, what are you doing here?” Quickly she glanced around, taking note of everyone around them. Luna sat behind her desk and Derrick stood just behind her, both watching them. Three men hung back by the wall, most likely waiting for a whore to see to them, but they kept sneaking glances at what was going on as well. She didn't recognize anyone else in the room, definitely didn't see any of the people she would have expected to be around the queen outside of the palace, and her mind reeled to catch up. The brunette in front of her just smiled, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes. “I wanted to see you,” she answered simply, not looking away. “I was hoping we could talk.”  
  
“Hn,” one of the men standing by the wall scoffed, looking past the brunette's back and eyeing over Clarke. “Come over here and I'll talk with ya too.” He grabbed the front of his breeches, cupping his cock and raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. The queen's smile disappeared, a hard line taking its place and her stance shifted, one hand moving to her side beneath her cloak. As she moved Clarke's eyes were drawn to it and she saw the imprint of a sword at the woman's hip and knew exactly what the queen was about to do.  
  
Behind her she heard Derrick shift, obviously seeing the same thing she did. She knew the moment the queen drew her sword Derrick's would be out too, and there was far too much chance the other woman would be hurt if that happened. Without thinking she stepped forward, her arms loosely wrapping around the queen's arm and halting her movements. Green eyes widened in surprise and Clarke put on her best flirtatious smile, batting her eyelashes.  
  
“I'm so sorry my lady, how rude of me,” she said, playing up the part of the working whore. “You came all this way to see me and I'm making us just stand here. Luna, I won't be available for the rest of the night, I'm afraid.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, knowing her mistress would see through her act but just needing to get them out of there as quickly as possible. Batting her eyelashes again up at the queen, she lightly pulled against her arm, beginning to lead her further into the building. “My room is this way, my lady. We can talk in there.” The brunette just nodded, her posture stiff but arm loose in Clarke's grip, and the younger woman led her down the hall and to the stairs.  
  
Clarke could barely focus on anything as she led the queen through The Rig and to her bedroom. Her mind was still whirling, too caught up with everything that had just happened at the Dropship to be able to even begin comprehending that the queen had somehow ended up in her whorehouse looking for her. Emotions rampaged through her, too fast and too furiously for her to tamper down. The satisfaction of finally finding and dealing with the men who had killed her father swirled with the annoyance of finding that they had yet one more person to locate before they would be able to identify the man who had started this all, and it was all topped off with the absolute and complete bewilderment at the queen's appearance in this part of her life. This woman was supposed to be in the palace, nowhere else, was _certainly_ not supposed to be walking through Polis alone without any kind of escort, and yet the fact that that's exactly what she was doing had Clarke's heart ramming against her chest. It took every bit of her self control to hold everything inside, desperately needing to shut them away from prying eyes and curious ears before she lost that control.  
  
The second they got to her room Clarke yanked the other woman into it and then all but slammed the door shut behind them, her act completely falling away. “What are you _doing_ here?” she hissed, fighting to keep her voice down. She spun to find the queen standing calmly – or at least appearing calm, Clarke thought maybe she saw a spark of uncertainty light up in those green eyes just for a flash of a second – in the center of her room.  
  
“You said I know nothing about my people,” she answered simply, as though it were an obvious answer. She evenly met the younger woman's glare and far beneath her confusion Clarke couldn't help but be mildly impressed; she knew her anger wasn't the easiest to stand up to. “I'm here for you to teach me.”  
  
“You can't... This isn't safe! If someone recognizes you-” she tried, but again she cut herself off. They wouldn't. Clarke knew better than most that people only saw what they expected to see, and _nobody_ expected to see the most powerful woman in the country standing in the middle of a whore's bedroom, let alone out in the filthy streets of the capitol. She changed what she'd been about to say. “What will happen to the Kongeda if something happens to you?” she demanded. “This isn't safe. You shouldn't _be_ here.”  
  
“You told me I couldn't possibly know what it's like to be a commoner,” the other woman stated plainly, her tone entirely calm and it grated on Clarke's already frazzled nerves. “You said it isn't possible.” She lifted her hands just a little, almost like a shrug. “So here I am.”  
  
“I didn't mean you should sneak out of-” Clarke muttered angrily and cut herself off again. The walls in The Rig were thin, and she couldn't risk anyone overhearing something they really shouldn't. Right now the woman in front of her just looked like a noble, a dangerous enough position to be in, but certainly not as bad as it could be. All different types of people made their way through here and if the wrong person found out who she really was they would be in for a lot of trouble. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, trying to get herself under control, and then said with a forced calm, “When I said that, I didn't know you would take my words so literally.”  
  
“I want to know, Clarke,” the queen told her, her voice softening a little. There was a wistfulness to it that tugged at something inside of the younger woman, had some of her nerves smoothing away despite her best efforts to stay angry. “If I can't understand the people who come to me for help, then what good am I? It's my duty to take care of my people and right now it seems I only understand a small fraction of them. How will that do the rest of you any good?”  
  
She couldn't possibly know it, but she'd just used the best argument she could have against her. Her words sounded far too much like her father's belief and Clarke felt something open up inside her, her throat momentarily burning before she could swallow down the wave of emotion. Doing her best to hide it she scanned the queen's face, finding her own expression completely open. At the palace, even when they were talking just the two of them, there had always been a barrier between them, the cool persona of the queen showing to the world while Clarke showed the flirtatious whore. At this moment those two barriers were down and the fire she could see burning in green eyes that easily met hers was entirely real and very powerful. It made her step back, looking away, as her mind continued to race.  
  
“Keep your voice down,” she murmured, her own quiet. “And watch what you say. We have thin walls.” The queen's expression barely changed, her eyebrows raising just a centimeter, eyes not leaving Clarke's. The younger woman thought about it, thought about all the nobles she'd interacted with since becoming a whore and knew that none of them would ever care enough about the common people to try to walk invisibly among them. Even Monroe, as fun and down to earth as she was, would never sneak away in the middle of the night to see what common life was like. Yet here was the queen, the greatest of all of them, standing in her bedroom trying to do just that.  
  
“And how exactly do you plan on understanding us?” she wanted to know and one corner of the queen's mouth turned up into a partial smile. “By following you,” she answered easily. “I want you to show me around Polis. I want to walk through the streets and do all those things you said I've never done.” Clarke flinched at the reminder of what she'd said to this powerful woman, but it didn't seem to upset her. Her smile fell away, a slight frown taking its place before she continued quietly. “You were right about that, Clarke. I don't know my city. I've lived outside it my entire life but tonight is the first night I've ever walked through its streets. That isn't right. If I'm going to be the best-” she glanced over at the wall, remembering her warning, “-person I can be, I need to do this. And I need your help. Please.”  
  
_This is such a terrible idea_ , Clarke thought, but even as she thought it she could feel herself giving into the green eyes that had yet to look away from her. _No wonder she was able to unite all the houses. How can you possibly say no to her_? She tried to hold onto her resolve for even just a moment longer but felt it slipping away. Finally she rubbed at her forehead, knowing full well there was no way this could possibly end well, but nevertheless gave in.  
  
“No one's ever going to believe you're a commoner dressed like that,” she just said, eyeing over her cloak and what she could see of the clothes beneath it. That made the other woman frown, looking down at herself before she replied, “These are the worst clothes I have.”  
  
“The worst you have is still a lot better than the best most commoners have,” Clarke retorted, turning around and moving over to her closet. “If you really want to blend in, you'll have to wear something else.” She skimmed through her dresses, going right by the robes, and searched for something that would do. Their builds were different, Clarke's body more soft curves and the queen's more hard muscles – she'd tried not to notice it when they danced together and had failed miserably – but she was sure she could find something that would do. After going back and forth between a few options she pulled out a brown dress that was too tight on her, specifically designed to push her breasts up while making her waist appear thinner, deciding it would have to do. She also grabbed a pair of hose to go under them and then took a quick look at the other woman's feet: her boots, though great quality, were at least sensible and would work well enough with the dress.  
  
Once she'd gathered all the clothing up she turned back around, holding it out to the queen. The older woman eyed it for a second and it was Clarke's turn to lift an eyebrow. “If you want my help, you're going to have to listen to me,” she told her. “And if you want to be invisible, then you're going to have to dress like everyone else.” Hesitantly the queen nodded and reached out to accept the clothes, but just before she could Clarke pulled them out of her reach. “Are you sure about this?” she needed to know, worry still gnawing at her gut. “Walking around Polis alone isn't nearly as safe as riding around with your guards. This is dangerous, too dangerous to even-”  
  
“I'm sure,” the queen assured her, cutting her off. “I need to do this.” She scanned the older woman's face for just a second and then let out a sigh, shaking her head. This time when the queen reached out for the clothing she didn't pull away, and then the other woman turned to place them lightly on the bed. Clarke watched as she removed her cloak, folding it neatly before laying it on the bed as well, and then unbuckled her belt and carefully set it and her sword and dagger down. She was still watching as the queen's hands went to the hem of her shirt, but then those green eyes glanced over at her and she almost blushed, realizing she'd been watching her undress without thinking about it, too caught up in her own head. “I'll give you some privacy,” she said, turning around to face her closet again. While she was completely used to stripping in front of strangers now, it was entirely likely the queen wasn't. “Let me know if you need any help tying the back up.”  
  
For a few minutes she just stared into her closet, wondering how her night had turned out like this, and listened to the quiet noises behind her as the older woman stripped and dressed herself in Clarke's clothes. “I've finished,” she finally stated and the dark-haired woman turned around to find her standing a little awkwardly. She gestured to the back of the dress. “Could you...?”  
  
“Of course,” Clarke agreed a little too quickly and then moved over to where the other woman stood. The dress wasn't a perfect fit but it still looked better than she'd expected, and now it was Clarke's turn to try not to stare at the skin of her exposed chest. Not as much cleavage showed as it would if it were her in the dress, but still the new sight made her throat a little dry and her fingers tingle as she pulled at the ties on the back of the dress. By the time she finished she'd gotten a hold of herself and when she stepped back she could give the queen an approving look. “It will do,” she decided, pointedly avoiding looking at her chest. “You look far more like one of us now, at least.”  
  
“Thank you, Clarke,” the queen told her, giving her a brief smile, “I appreciate this.” When she just tried to nod it off the other woman's hand reached out, lightly curling around her arm. She looked over again to meet her eyes and found a sincerity there she wasn't used to. “All of this. I appreciate all that you're doing for me.”  
  
“It's my pleasure, Your-” she began and then snapped her jaw shut, furious at herself for slipping so soon. She never slipped, could tell a lie or a story with ease and had been able to since she was a child, but one look from the queen had her forgetting how careful she needed to be. A ghost of a smile tugged at the queen's lips despite her slip up or maybe because of it, before she told her, “Lexa. Call me Lexa.”  
  
“I...” Clarke trailed off, not entirely sure what to say to that. To the best of her knowledge, only her closest friends called her that, and Clarke was hardly a close friend. The two had only known each other for a few weeks and only interacted for a few minutes any time they saw each other. This was the longest interaction they'd ever had, and the queen was really only using her to try to understand her people better, something Clarke couldn't really fault her for considering she was technically only using the queen for her parties. Still, if they were going to spend this time together she did need something to call her, and “Your Majesty” wouldn't cut it in the streets of Polis. “Alexandria” would likely be dangerous too, so really the nickname was the best way to go. “Okay,” she agreed with a nod, “Lexa. Where would you like to go first?”  
  
She pretended not to notice how beautiful the name was or how it seemed to fit the other woman so much better than her title.  
  
Lexa smiled, this time a genuine, fully there smile, and then she returned the nod. “Wherever you would like to take me, Clarke. I'm in your hands tonight.” Clarke grinned, liking the sound of that, and then turned to lead the way out of the room. Before she even got to the door she heard the soft _thump_ of something heavy scuffing against cloth and turned around to see the queen had picked up her belt with the scabbard and sword hanging from it and was in the process of settling it around her waist.  
  
“No,” she said, just shaking her head, “the sword stays here.” Green eyes widened in surprise and the queen – _Lexa_ – glanced from her down to her sword. “If you're so worried about danger, then I should be armed,” she stated and Clarke just kept shaking her head.  
  
“No, that's just more likely to draw attention to us.” When she frowned, still looking down at her sword, the redhead let out a slight sigh. “Common women don't have swords,” she told her, turning back around to move over to where Lexa still stood by the end of her bed. “Some common men do, but even that isn't often. Swords are for nobles and fighters, _good_ fighters, and if you walk around with that people will notice.” She reached out and grabbed the dagger from the bed, holding it out for her. “The dagger you can take, that shouldn't draw much attention to us, but the sword stays here.” The queen shifted slightly, now eyeing the dagger while one hand rested on the pommel of her sword before she unbuckled it from her belt. She didn't immediately set it down, instead glanced around the room before asking hesitantly, “Is it... safe to leave it here? It's very valuable.”  
  
Clarke didn't take the remark as an insult, understanding how this woman's first thought might be that someone would steal it while they were gone. Even without seeing the naked sword she could tell it was incredibly good quality. Reaching out she took it from the queen, Lexa's grip tightening on it just a millisecond before releasing it to her, and then took it over to her closet. “No one should come in here while I'm gone, but I can hide it if it will make you feel better.” For a second she considered prying up the loose floorboard and hiding it with her other secrets but realized giving the hiding spot away to the queen could lead to questions she didn't want to answer. Instead she tucked it away in the back behind her dresses and robes, covering it as fully as she could. Stepping away she eyed the space over, happy to find it successfully camouflaged. The other woman still didn't look entirely easy when she turned back to her but she didn't try to argue either, just buckled her dagger to her belt instead. Clarke lifted an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she was ready, and Lexa nodded.  
  
The two left the redhead's bedroom, Clarke once again leading the way through The Rig. This time when they passed people fewer stared at Lexa, those who did now staring for a completely different reason as their eyes fell to her partially exposed chest. Clarke felt a little easier leading the way now that the other woman blended in better but that ball of worry continued to gnaw at her gut and she doubted it would go away any time soon. That worry sparked up just a bit brighter as they made their way by Luna's desk, the mistress's eyes following them as they passed. She didn't say anything but Clarke already began trying to mentally spin a story that would sound believable later when she asked why a noblewoman had gone up to her room and a common woman had come back down.  
  
Once outside the whorehouse Clarke led them down the street, deciding that if the queen really wanted to see Polis then the best thing for them to do would be to just keep walking. It made her uneasy, being out in the open like this, but at least she could make sure the streets they went down were the safer ones in the city. As they walked she scanned around them, more on alert now than she had been in years. For the first few months after her life had changed she had constantly been exhausted from how alert she always was but eventually she'd gotten used to the ways of the cities and villages she and Wells had traveled through. Now once again she felt that same sense of hyper awareness creeping up on her and knew she'd be tired in the morning. It had already been a long evening, and she doubted walking along with the queen would make it feel any shorter.  
  
“How did you get away from... your home?” she asked eventually after they'd been walking for a few minutes. The queen was staring at an elderly man sitting back up against one of the houses they passed, his clothes nothing more than tattered rags and his hair and skin filthy. “Very carefully,” she answered, tearing her eyes away from the man to stare straight ahead, and Clarke saw something flicker across her expression before she could lock it away. “Anya would have knocked me out and then tied me to my bed if she'd found out what I was doing."  
  
Clarke noticed that didn't actually answer her question but decided not to pry any further despite her curiosity. If she didn't want to answer then wheedling her for more information wasn't likely to do anything other than make the brunette distrust her. Instead she tilted her head slightly, looking at the other woman out of the corner of her eye. “You and Anya must be close if she would dare to ever even think about doing something like that to you.”  
  
Lexa let out a quiet laugh, the corners of her mouth tilting up. “Anya has smacked me upside the head many times, though it's grown less common as I've gotten older.” She eyed over a cluster of people around a stand, noticing that as a woman argued with its teller a child behind her used that moment to swipe a small loaf of bread from the edge of the table. The child took off running the moment it was in his hands, heading for two others waiting for him just down the street and then they were all running, disappearing into a side alley. She considered going after them to retrieve the stolen bread, the muscles in her legs bunching to begin chasing after them, but Clarke didn't so much as change her pace, obviously not concerned with getting involved so she let them go. The teller hadn't even noticed the missing bread by the time they were passed him.  
  
“She's allowed to do that?” Clarke asked as her eyebrows rose, more interested in their conversation than the theft that just took place in front of them, and the queen shrugged. “She's been my friend since I was young,” she said simply. “She's never let what I am stop her from telling me whatever it is she wants to say.”  
  
The younger woman doubted that very much, but the queen sounded so sure of it she didn't want to break that fantasy. “Are you two related?” she asked instead, pretty sure they weren't. It would explain why they were close, but if she remembered her history lessons right – which she was quite sure she did – Anya's family the Pines weren't directly related to the royal Woods family. They were a smaller house of the Trikru Forest where the Woods family roots originated, but didn't have any blood relation. Lexa shook her head beside her, proving her right, and then told her, “No, we're not related. She came to the palace after she finished her knight's training and I followed her around when I wasn't in any of my lessons. Soon she was teaching me how to use a sword, and those lessons continued after she became my personal guard.”  
  
“No wonder she wouldn't like knowing you were here,” Clarke stated, eyes suddenly drawn to movement on the queen's other side. A street urchin, no older than eleven or twelve, was following them, his eyes on the woman's dagger. Clearly he could see how valuable it was, and the younger woman knew exactly what he was planning to do. Not saying anything to the brunette she shifted a step closer, one hand subtly falling into her pocket and wrapping around the hilt of her knife. “You would be safer if she were with you though.”  
  
Apparently the words felt like a challenge to the queen because she looked over to her, eyebrows raising. “You've never seen me fight,” she informed her, chin tilting up just a hair, “I am very capable of taking care of myself.”  
  
“Of course,” Clarke easily agreed, knowing better than to argue with a noble's pride, even if this particular noble had shown that she could see past it better than most. It might even be true that she could defend herself, but she clearly wasn't used to the hectic bustle of the city streets and the unsuspecting trouble that often accompanied it. A group of people crossed in front of them and they had to slow down, and the street urchin used the opportunity to slip his hand up towards the queen's belt.  
  
Clarke was faster than the urchin or the queen would have expected. Just as the boy's fingers closed skillfully around the hilt of the small blade her own fingers closed around his wrist, the tip of her knife poised easily over his knuckles.  
  
“I don't think so,” she told him, her voice a tad too sweet as she smiled down at him. “Find someone else's pretty dagger to steal.”  
  
He stared up at her with bulging eyes, taken entirely by surprise. “You's a fast 'un,” he said, too shocked to release his grip on the dagger. “How'd ya do that?”  
  
“Years of practice,” she informed him before tightening her grip just enough to remind him where his hand still was. He flushed and released the weapon and Clarke let him go, the boy stumbling back a bit in his surprise. “You have to be faster than that if you're going to be a good pickpocket.” That made him glare at her, clearly indignant at having his reputation tarnished. “I ain't bad at it, you's just too damned fast, Mist'ress.” Clarke smiled a little more genuinely at him, telling him, “Then you'll have to learn to be faster.” He shrugged and then nodded, glancing once more at the queen's dagger before sighing and taking off, knowing it was better to get out of there before he drew anymore attention to himself. As he left Clarke pocketed her own knife and then moved to step forward now that their path was clear again, but stopped when the other woman didn't follow. Turning back to look at her, she found green eyes almost as wide as the boy's had been.  
  
“Where did you get that?” she nearly demanded, obviously referring to her knife. Clarke patted her hidden pocket, saying, “From where it always is. I've found knives are more handy when the person bothering you isn't aware you have one.” The queen continued to gape at her for a second before she seemed to catch herself, her expression all at once smoothing out. “That was... very impressive,” she said finally, stepping towards her with her hands moving to clasp behind her back and Clarke could have sighed; that was a noble's stance if she ever saw one.  
  
Hoping to break her out of it the younger woman turned and began forward again, glancing over when Lexa followed her. “It was nothing,” she told her, waving her hand a little as though to wipe the compliment away. “He really will have to get faster if he doesn't want the wrong person to catch him.” The laws for stealing varied depending on what it was that had been stolen, but many people took the law into their own hands if they caught the perpetrator themselves. Clarke knew plenty of people who would have taught the boy a lesson by removing a finger or two or even his whole hand if they'd been the one to catch him.  
  
Lexa frowned at that, loosening up a little as she fell back in step beside her, but then she caught sight of Clarke's hand, a smudge of something on her wrist. She would have missed it if she hadn't already been focused on the sudden appearance of the knife, but the second she saw it her brow furrowed, concerned. She reached out and gripped the other woman's hand, stilling it so she could get a closer look, and Clarke was taken aback by the touch, not expecting it. She stopped walking again and frowned and then followed the queen's gaze down to her wrist, eyes widening for half a second when she noticed the little streak of dried blood on her skin. Quickly she yanked her hand from the queen's grip, trying to appear perfectly calm as green eyes flickered back up to meet her own.  
  
“What happened?” she wanted to know, scanning Clarke's face and the redhead shook her head as she rubbed at the spot on her wrist, wiping away the blood. “Nothing,” she answered, mind whirling to come up with a believable lie. “I fell earlier and scraped my knee, I must not have noticed when I was cleaning it up. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
The queen didn't look convinced, her eyes glancing down her body to her legs, thankfully hidden beneath the skirt of her dress. “Are you sure?” she asked, her tone still concerned, “I wouldn't want to make you walk around if you're in pain.”  
  
“It's just a little scrape, Y-... Lexa,” Clarke assured her, catching and correcting herself. She quickly scanned the few people closest to them, glad to see no one seemed to be paying them any attention to have heard her almost slip. Deciding they were safe, she turned back to the queen, adding more calmly, “Really, I'm fine.” Green eyes studied her for another moment, as though trying to weigh the truth of her words, and then she nodded and followed as Clarke began to lead them down the street again.  
  
“You sounded as though you want him to become a better thief,” she stated after a minute, referring back to the pickpocket, and Clarke noticed her looking over from the corner of her eye. She shrugged, thinking her answer over a little before telling her, “It isn't a matter of what I want but more what I know. Bad thieves don't survive long, that's just how it is. That boy probably wouldn't be stealing if he didn't need to, so for him it's a matter of survival. Either he learns how to steal without getting caught or he doesn't and he winds up dead in an alley somewhere, either from somebody's knife to the gut or from starvation.”  
  
“You think stealing is his only option?” the queen asked, a hint of surprise in her tone. “He could find work somewhere and earn his living.”  
  
Clarke nodded, though her eyebrows lifted a little at the same time. “He could be one of the lucky ones that finds work,” she agreed, but she knew her tone made it clear she doubted it would happen. “More likely though nobody will hire him. There are hundreds of people living off the streets and only so many people looking for help. Why should he be hired over the hundreds of others?”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she could see the queen studying her, a frown pulling her brow down. She knew she sounded cold, sounded like she didn't care, but in reality she cared too much. Clarke had cried herself to sleep too many times with the faces she saw every day flashing through her mind's eye, desperately wishing there was something she could do for them but knowing there wasn't. She tried so hard to close herself off from it all and always failed miserably.  
  
“So he should steal from people who earn what they have?” Lexa asked her. “Isn't that what you were accusing Quint of the other night?”  
  
The words caused Clarke's entire expression to shift, the fury she'd been without for a few wonderful hours now returning to burn in her chest.  
  
“There is a very big difference between a boy living in the streets stealing to try to survive and an arrogant man who already has everything he could possibly need raising taxes just to try to show powerless people who's in charge,” she argued fiercely, eyes flashing. “Quint just wants to feel more important than he is and doesn't care that doing something like that would only throw _more_ people into the streets.”  
  
The queen studied her for a long moment and then shrugged, and to Clarke's surprise she nodded. “You're right,” she agreed, “Quint isn't a good noble. The gods played an awful joke when they made him the heir to his house.” The complete agreement surprised her enough to douse most of her rekindled fury, and the queen must have seen that surprise in her expression. “Did you think I didn't know that? There are a handful of people I know who wouldn't have been born into their titles if the gods didn't have a strange sense of humor. But they were and now all I can do is my best to make sure they don't entirely abuse their power.”  
  
It was now Clarke's turn to study the other woman, trying to read everything about her. It felt like every time she talked to her she learned something new or pealed away another layer of who the queen really was, and she found it both unsettling and interesting. Most of the time she could get a read on people without much effort on her part but the queen seemed to be entirely different from anyone she'd ever met before. She couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.  
  
“It's a delicate balance,” she stated after a second, “trying to guide them into doing what you want and not pushing too far and possibly causing a rift in the Kongeda. I get it.” Lexa gave her a look, one that Clarke could clearly read the message behind, and for a split second wanted to tell her just how much she really did understand. She held the words back though, trapped deep inside herself as they always were.  
  
“I wish you could get it,” the queen replied quietly, now taking another look around them. They'd walked more than a mile though Clarke had been so caught up in the conversation and sneaking looks at Lexa that she hadn't realized it. The other woman thought about her words again and then shook her head. “Actually, I don't. There is no reason to want to understand the headaches that come with leading unless you truly have to.”  
  
Clarke could have told her she understood that too but didn't, not willing to answer any questions the response might bring about. Instead she watched the other woman looking around her, clearly trying to take everything in before she let out a small sigh. “Unfortunately I should be preparing for more of those headaches now. I'm eating breakfast with my aunt tomorrow and she will not be pleased if I'm too tired to pay attention to her.”  
  
The incredibly brief interaction Clarke had had with the duchess flashed through her mind and she flinched, suddenly feeling sorry for the woman beside her. “My condolences,” she muttered, thinking maybe it was too low to hear but apparently not as Lexa's eyes flashed to hers and her lips curled up into a small grin. “Thank you. I will probably need them.”  
  
The sudden joke caused something to shift between them, the seriousness of their earlier conversation melting away. Clarke turned and gestured down the street, saying, “We can go back to The Rig and you can change back into your terrible clothes before you go.” Lexa's eyes widened just a fraction before she seemed to notice the small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and then she was fighting against her own smile. “They really are my worst clothes,” she informed her and Clarke just shook her head. “If I hadn't already seen you in some of your best I wouldn't believe it.” The queen's head tilted up a fraction but even so it couldn't wipe away her smile, and Clarke couldn't help thinking that it didn't matter the quality of this other woman's clothes, that smile would always make Lexa the most beautiful person in any room.  
  
Together they made their way back towards The Rig and as they went the queen's eyes scanned their surroundings, trying to take in this other side of life so she could begin to truly understand it. Clarke's eyes remained almost solely on the brunette, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat here and there as minute expressions kept flashing across her face with every new thing she saw. After the past week she'd been about to give up on the belief that anyone shared her father's philosophy of the duty a noble owed to their people, but here she was walking through crowded city streets filled to the brim with the lowest of the classes, with no less than the queen beside her. Maybe there was hope yet for them, and her chest began to fill with it, a new kind of warmth passing through her she hadn't felt in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any questions or would like to talk at all about this story with me, feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda. I'd love to talk with you! :)


	9. Chapter Nine

For the third time in under a minute Lord Sterling Reed of the Great Lakes nervously glanced around the room and it took all of Clarke's will power to pretend not to notice. Ever since they arrived at the palace over an hour ago he'd gone back and forth between being nervous and arrogant and it was really starting to get on her nerves. Around the young nobles who swarmed to her as always he puffed out his chest and made sure to be close to her, wanting them all to know who she was with but whenever any one of the older nobility looked their way he immediately stepped away, practically hiding behind her. All she could do was smile and pretend to find it all charming when in reality she wanted to cuff him over the head and tell him to get over it. She had enough to worry about already, she really couldn't afford to be following along with his mood swings all night too.  
  
Only the day before had a message arrived from the young lesser lord asking for her services and company to this party. Clarke had been sure that no noble would risk hiring her again after her argument with Quint but then there Sterling's request was and she could have kissed the parchment it came on. She could care less about him and didn't really look forward to teaching him how to use his cock later, the young man very much giving off the air of never having had sex before, but he got her into the palace and among the rest of the nobles and that's all she wanted. Now she smiled and batted her eyelashes at him and the others around them while only half paying attention to their conversation, the rest of her focus traveling around the room.  
  
_Which one of you is it_? she wondered silently, eyes drifting from person to person. She knew it was very likely that one of them was the man who had orchestrated her father's death but even with Bennet and Jenson dead she didn't feel any closer to identifying them than she had a week ago and it made her itch with impatience. Every man whose name she didn't know could be Emerson and every lord could be his master, and the mystery of it all had her feeling jittery.  
  
“...gonna go get some food,” she heard Sterling mumble beside her and she forced herself to tune back into the conversation. He was looking at her, managing to look at her face for a full two seconds before his eyes dipped down to her chest and Clarke held in an exasperated sigh as she just gave him a simple smile. “My lord, I'd be happy to get it for you if you'd like.”  
  
“Is that a good idea?” Atom Marsh, the second son of the Lord and Lady of the Shallow Valley, asked with a grin. “Last time you went to get someone food you ended up yelling at Quint.” The others with them began grinning as well, many of them trading looks, and Clarke made a show of glancing down and trying to look embarrassed. Sterling's reaction wasn't for show, his cheeks heating up a little before he shook his head. “No Clarke, it's fine, I've got it.” He left before she could say anything else and she just let him go. She had no desire to wait on any of them anyway.  
  
“You do know how to put on a show,” one of the young men said, giving her a look. “Very entertaining.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Philip Hyll, the second son of a lesser lord from the Boudalan Mountains replied, a smug grin creeping along his expression. He had been the first one after Finn to hire her and now he gave her a look while the couple of young women standing around in their group coughed uncomfortably and the men either shared his grin or tried not to look jealous. For her part Clarke met all the different looks thrown at her, not caring in the slightest what any of them thought. All she did was smile politely, not letting her mask slip for even a second.  
  
“That's enough, Hyll,” someone said, and Clarke looked over to her left to see Finn breaking into their group. Clearly he'd heard what had just been said and if his glare was anything to go by, he wasn't happy about it. Those closest to him took a step to the side to make room for him and everyone looked from him to the other man. Philip met his glare and his grin fell away, a challenge sparking up in his eyes. “Do you have a problem, Collins?” he asked with an edge to his tone and Clarke had to force herself to keep watching on politely instead of letting out a loud, obnoxious sigh like she wanted. The last thing she needed was for the two of them to get into some kind of stupid fight over her.  
  
Luckily Finn didn't seem to want to get into a fight anymore than she wanted him to. Instead of responding he completely ignored the other man, turning to her and giving her a small smile. “Mistress Blake, could I talk with you for a moment? Alone?” A few eyebrows shot up around the circle but Clarke just nodded. “Of course my lord.” He stepped forward and held out his arm and she took it, letting him lead the way from the group.  
  
If he'd tried to lead her out of the room entirely she would have stopped him, having dealt with men before who thought they didn't need to pay her for her services to get what they wanted, but he didn't. He led her over to the nearby wall where there was a spot open without anyone directly in earshot and stopped there, turning to look at her. The moment she looked into his face she could see that same lost and lovesick look badly hidden in his eyes but did her best to ignore it, her stomach turning a little. Whatever he wanted to say, she wasn't sure it was anything she wanted to hear.  
  
“I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you for a while,” he began, glancing away and then back again. He spoke quietly, as though he were afraid someone would hear even when there was no one particularly close by. “I've wanted to it just... it hasn't worked out.”  
  
“I've been busy my lord,” she tried, giving him a smile to try to fight off some of the nerves she could see in his expression. “That's not your fault.”  
  
His nose wrinkled at her words, obviously unhappy with thinking about her with others but to her relief he didn't say anything about that. She hated having to remind people that just because they paid for her company it didn't mean she belonged to them – it often got messy. Finn let out a sigh and then ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.  
  
“No it's my father's,” he informed her, a hint of anger coloring his voice. He glared over where Lord Emerys stood on the opposite side of the room but Clarke didn't take her eyes off him. “He wants the queen to choose one of my brothers for her husband and thinks me purchasing a whore's services will reflect badly on the house.” He said it as though he were quoting something he'd heard, anger flushing his cheeks red and Clarke wondered how many times he'd had this argument with his father before giving in. If she'd wanted to she could have told him she was now on a first name basis with the queen – had even been given permission to use her nickname – which was something none of her would-be suitors could boast. Despite the way she'd seen the first and second sons of the main houses flock around her, as far as Clarke could tell Lexa had no interest in any of them while she'd snuck out of the palace to find her. She didn't of course, would never even consider telling Finn about her strange new relationship with the queen, but for a brief moment she did wonder what Lord Emerys would think about it.  
  
“Lord Emerys is only doing what he thinks is right,” she said instead, giving Finn a soft smile. “A whore may be fun for a night or two but nothing more than that.” To her surprise he frowned, his expression serious before he reached out, taking her hand and holding it up between them. “You're more than just a whore to me,” he murmured, “I think you know that.”  
  
A warning went off in Clarke's head, both at the touch and the look he was giving her. She needed to put some distance between them now before too many people saw them like this and before he could convince himself to do something he really shouldn't. As politely as she could she extracted her hand from his grip, making sure her smile didn't waver.  
  
“I'm sorry my lord but I'm here with Sterling tonight,” she reminded him carefully as she pulled her hand away, “he may be upset if he sees us in such a manner.” She very purposefully avoided what he had said, not wanting to fall into the massive headache that conversation would give her. His eyes flashed and his lips pursed but he nodded even as he continued to stare at her. She hesitated, trying to think of a polite way to get away from him when she was suddenly rescued.  
  
“Mistress Blake,” they heard and Clarke almost let out a relieved sigh as she turned away from the young lord to find a much older lord now just a few steps away. Dante Wallace smiled warmly as he approached them, spreading his arms in front of him in greeting. “Just the person I have been looking for.” As though he was only just seeing the young man with her he continued the greeting on to him. “And Lord Finn. Would you mind if I borrowed Mistress Blake for a moment?”  
  
“Of course he wouldn't,” Clarke answered for him, quickly leaving her spot by the wall to meet the older man. She looked over her shoulder, finding Finn still watching her with that same longing in his eyes and just gave him another simple smile. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, my lord. I'm sure we will talk again very soon.” Internally she made the mental note to keep as much distance between her and Finn as possible so he couldn't try to continue this conversation.  
  
Finn nodded, barely able to force a smile. “I look forward to it, Mistress Blake.”  
  
Dante held out one arm and she took it, following as he steered them away from Finn and back towards the center of the room. As they went he glanced over at her, giving her a small, knowing smile. “I hope you don't mind my interruption. You just looked like you could use some help. Sometimes it's very easy for these young men to forget themselves.” She flashed him a thankful smile, trying not to let too much of her relief show. “Thank you, my lord. Sir Finn is very kind, but it was best for that conversation to end before it could go any further.” He patted her hand lightly, nodding as though he understood.  
  
Before they had made it much further he spoke up again, telling her, “I really did want to talk to you though.” He nodded to someone they passed, ignoring the look he got from having her on his arm. “I was wondering when you might be available to take me to the shop in Polis you were telling me about. The one you said had the best paint supplies? I haven't been able to do anything since coming to the capitol and it's making me a little stir crazy.”  
  
“Whenever you would like, my lord,” she replied smoothly. “I am more than happy to help you.”  
  
“I don't want to interfere with your schedule,” he insisted, stopping them in a bit of free space towards the center of the room. He pulled away just enough that she let her hand drop and turned to smile at her. “I know you have work you need to do.” She scanned his expression for a quick moment, trying to see if he meant anything by that or was making fun of her but found nothing but sincerity.  
  
“I'm free tomorrow afternoon,” she told him, “I have to be working again by evening but if you are free at noon that would give us more than enough time.” He beamed, nodding once. “Wonderful. We'll meet at noon then.”  
  
They spent a few minutes planning where they would meet and talking about art, the lord having a passion for it and Clarke thinking about a passion she'd had once upon a time when her life was simpler, before they were interrupted. Clarke saw the queen approaching them from the corner of her vision and fought to keep her attention on Dante for as long as she could, but when she was only a few steps away she couldn't keep herself from shifting to see the other woman better. For one reason or another her gaze went straight to the queen's eyes and she found an emerald stare already leveled at her. Lexa's eyes and the way the corners of her mouth curled up into a soft smile when their gazes met made her stomach flip and she couldn't even blame it on the wine since she hadn't had any yet. She could ignore the sensation though and did, the only a trace of the reaction making its way into her expression as she automatically mirrored the queen's smile.  
  
“Lord Dante, Mistress Blake,” she said easily as she stopped beside them. “I don't think I've greeted either of you yet tonight. I apologize for taking so long to find you.”  
  
“There's no need to apologize, Your Majesty,” Clarke informed her, dipping into the customary curtsy while Dante bowed beside her. “You are a very busy woman and couldn't possibly greet everyone first thing.”  
  
“Mistress Blake is quite right,” Dante agreed with a generous nod, “I'm sure we're both just honored you were able to make your way to us at all.” Clarke nodded her agreement as she looked over to the queen from beneath her eyelashes, noticing the way she seemed to focus her attention on the lord while placing herself just a hair closer to the younger woman. Lexa asked him a question about some meeting the two had been in earlier that day and Dante answered, and as he did she nodded along but Clarke got the sense she wasn't really listening. Though she hadn't looked over at her since the initial greeting Clarke could tell the queen really had no interest with talking to the lord and had likely only come over because of her. For her part she didn't mind, taking the opportunity to get a good look up close of the other woman. The brunette was always beautiful, no one could doubt that, but tonight she wore a dark gray silk gown that looked as though it had been designed with her in it. Dark blue and green beading had been used to trim the dress, light glinting off of the beads any time she moved, and Clarke could feel herself being drawn to the shimmer of the light. It was different in every way from the dress she'd loaned her the other night, in cut and quality, but Clarke thought they both looked stunning on the older woman. She'd noticed before the queen's proclivity towards braids in her hair and tonight was no different, the brown locks swept out of her face by small braids and then trailing down her back in a tumble of loose curls with other small braids sprinkled throughout it. It was a simple look but on the queen it could have been the most elegant hairstyle ever worn.  
  
Clarke lost herself in secretly studying the brunette, only pretending to politely listen as the queen and Lord Dante's conversation continued. They had to have been talking for at least a couple of minutes when Lexa finally looked over at her again, those green eyes washing over her.  
  
“I'm sorry Clarke, we're being rude,” she stated while looking properly ashamed and internally the redhead applauded her. Clearly the queen could play this game just as well as she could. “We shouldn't be talking about these things right now, I'm sure we're boring you completely.”  
  
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” she replied while giving her another smile, “I actually find this all very interesting.” Dante let out a laugh beside her, patting her arm gently. “My dear, no one but merchants find trading goods to be particularly interesting.” She shrugged before telling him, “My father was a merchant, so perhaps he passed down some of his interest to me.”  
  
“Even so this is a party,” the queen said and then held out her hand between them. Clarke looked up to meet green again, seeing the woman's smile more in her eyes than on her lips as she asked solemnly, “Would you like to dance? I'd like to make up for my rudeness.”  
  
Clarke saw what she was doing, knew she was just trying to get them as alone as they could be in a crowded room. Despite that – or maybe because of it – she accepted her hand as she nodded. “You have nothing to make up for, Your Majesty, but I would be honored to dance with you.” Breaking her focus away from her she looked over to Dante, saying, “Will you excuse us, my lord?”  
  
“Of course,” he agreed without any hesitation, holding up his hands. “Enjoy. And Clarke, I will see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Tomorrow, my lord,” she replied as the queen began to lead her towards the other side of the room where a few couples were already dancing to this week's chosen musicians, “I look forward to it.” He gave her one last smile and then turned away to find others to talk with and Clarke shifted her focus forward, letting the queen lead her.  
  
As they walked, she glanced at the other woman out of the corner of her eye. She and Dante's parting words had made something flash across her easy expression, the smile on her lips a little more forced as they stepped onto the dance floor and turned to each other. She took one of Clarke's hands in her own and the other went to rest lightly at her hip but now she couldn't quite seem to meet the younger woman's eyes and Clarke raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Is something wrong, Your Majesty?” she asked after they'd started moving, stepping right into the dance without any hesitation. The queen's eyes snapped back to her face as though she were surprised she'd been caught and then her expression smoothed back out, that same calm smile taking over again. “No, of course not,” she replied and Clarke just lifted one eyebrow higher, waiting to get it out of her.  
  
Her patience paid off. After a second she looked away again and then immediately back, something obviously on her mind. “You and Dante are meeting tomorrow,” she stated, trying to keep her tone casual but Clarke could hear a hint of something beneath it. It didn't take a genius to know what she must be thinking and the dark-haired woman fought down a smirk, deciding to let herself have a little fun. Since she would have to deal with Sterling for the rest of the night, she figured she deserved it.  
  
“We are,” she told her with just a nod, her tone carefully light. “I have something he wants so he's coming to get it. He's been meaning to for a while but it's only now working out.” She was only just able to make out a barely discernible clench of the other woman's jaw, her eyes flicking away again and Clarke couldn't keep herself from adding, “You might like it too. I'd be happy to show you as well, Your Majesty, whenever you would like.”  
  
That had the queen's eyes widening and zeroing back in on her, her posture suddenly stiff against Clarke's body and feet no longer quite in time with the steps of the dance.  
  
“I...” she began and then trailed off and Clarke could practically see her panicking despite the fact that her expression barely changed. “While I have no doubt what you have to show me would be... I don't think it would be, um, proper, for me to... I can't just...”  
  
As fun as it was to listen to her ramble – something Clarke guessed was a very rare occurrence considering she always seemed so put together – she finally took pity on the brunette.  
  
“Of course Your Majesty, it was a silly suggestion,” she decided, acting as innocent as possible. “I'm sure you're so busy you never have time to enjoy a little art anyway. I don't even know if you've ever painted before.” Lexa frowned, her cheeks now just the lightest shade of pink, and Clarke decided it was a beautiful hue on her. She highly doubted any hue wouldn't look good on the older woman.  
  
“Paint?” the queen asked and Clarke nodded lightly, still playing the part of innocent, as though she hadn't purposely just seen whether or not it was possible to make the older woman blush. “Yes. Personally I prefer charcoal over paints, but Lord Dante says he's always loved the way the different colors come together on the canvas.” Lexa just kept giving her a look, confusion and relief obviously warring behind her eyes and Clarke was starting to lose the fight to hold her grin back.  
  
“You have paints that he's getting from you?” she tried to clarify and Clarke shook her head before stepping away and then back again as the tempo of the music picked up. “No, I'm taking him to a shop that has the best paints in the city. He's been wanting to go since he arrived in Polis but we're only now making it work.”  
  
“Oh,” Lexa stated, blinking once. “Well I'm glad you've been able to find time to meet then.” Clarke nodded and then cocked her head slightly to the side, glancing up at the woman from beneath her eyelashes. “What was it you thought I would show you?” The fading pink in her cheeks flared up again, this time even getting a little deeper and Clarke could no longer hold in her grin, it bleeding out and pulling the corners of her lips up. The queen saw it and must have caught on to what she had been doing because her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin just a fraction. “You are a very cruel woman, Clarke Blake.”  
  
“You have no idea, Your Majesty,” she replied, this time only half joking. If Lexa knew everything she'd done, what she had done just an hour before she'd shown up at The Rig the other night, her own lips wouldn't be curling up into a small smile right then. The queen didn't pick up on anything but the joke in her tone as she smiled, lifting one hand higher with Clarke's still in it as the redhead twirled neatly in time to the dance. “I've tried painting, but I'm afraid I'm not any good,” she informed her as their bodies came back together, “My teachers gave up on me when I was young.”  
  
“I'm sure you were better at it than you think.” Lexa shook her head at her words, smile growing a little as she said, “No, I really wasn't. I only had a couple of lessons before my father decided I should spend more time at my histories instead. I was good at that.” Clarke let out a light laugh, unable to stop herself. She could easily remember being shuffled from one lesson to another and having to stuff years and years worth of names and dates and battles in her head with the intention of remembering it all, and imaging this woman going through all the same things for some reason made her chest feel a little warmer.  
  
The song ended and they stilled in their movement and Clarke wondered for a second if Lexa would start in on the steps of the next dance as the musicians played the first notes to lead into the next song. She knew she should be getting back to Sterling after being away for so long but she didn't want to, the queen a far more entertaining companion to be around. Rather than fall into step with the new song though the queen glanced over her shoulder and Clarke saw the amusement that had been obvious just a moment ago get tucked away, hidden behind a cool exterior.  
  
“Unfortunately it looks like our dance is over,” the queen told her quietly, one hand dropping down from Clarke's waist but her other hand remained in the redhead's and Clarke felt her squeeze it gently. The pressure made her heart skip a beat but when she glanced back to see what had stolen the brunette's attention a tiny ball of nerves sizzled in her gut. Two people were walking towards them, the bald man with the hawk-like expression she'd had identified to her as Titus, the queen's head adviser, and a woman she hadn't yet seen at the palace. Her blonde hair was pinned up against her head and light eyes scanned over her briefly before turning to the queen. Lexa led the two of them away from the others dancing to meet them and Clarke watched as the woman curtsied to the queen and Titus bowed.  
  
“Your Majesty,” she greeted, and Lexa returned it with a small nod. “Lady Diana,” she returned, “I hope you had a safe and pleasant journey.” She then motioned towards the redhead beside her, finally releasing Clarke's hand and the young woman was too focused on the introduction to notice the way her palm tingled from the contact. “May I introduce you to Mistress Clarke Blake? Clarke, this is Lady Diana Sydney.”  
  
It was Clarke's turn to curtsy, her eyes drifting downward respectfully as she felt the older woman's eyes drift over her. She made sure to keep her expression even, not letting a hint of the fact she already knew the woman show on her face. The last time she'd seen any of the Sydneys she'd been eight and had had holes in her smile from lost baby teeth and had light blonde hair; there was no reason for this woman to recognize her as her late-lord's heir.  
  
“Clarke?” Lady Diana asked, recognizing the name if not the face. The redhead nodded and looked up from her curtsy, finding the other woman studying her with her brow furrowed. “You must be from the Arkadian Hills.”  
  
“Yes, my lady,” she answered as she stood back up. “My family lived in Mirren.” She named a small village a couple of miles outside of the Jaha fief; after visiting Wells so much when they were young, she knew it nearly as well as the villages around her own home. Diana's brow rose in mild interest as she continued to study her. “You must have been named after the young Lady Griffin.”  
  
“I was, my lady,” she agreed, giving a little nod. “My mother hoped the name would bring me luck.”  
  
It was a true story, though not her true story. During the first couple of months after her father died she and Wells had met a number of girls with her name; it was why she hadn't bothered changing more than her surname when she came to Polis.  
  
Diana glanced over at Lexa, the queen just standing and observing the conversation, before looking back at the redhead. “I don't think it would be wise for you to be here when the Griffins get here, Mistress Blake,” she stated, though Clarke had the feeling she was talking more to the queen than she was to her. “Lady Griffin still grieves her daughter's death. Meeting someone with her daughter's name will likely upset her. Especially considering your... profession.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Clarke saw Lexa stiffen slightly before shifting, about to say something, but she curtsied before she could and cut her off.  
  
“Of course, my lady,” she agreed, letting the corners of her lips turn down and her expression soften. “I wouldn't want to cause Lady Griffin any pain. It was already my intention not to accept any invitations to the palace once she and her party arrive.” Her voice almost broke as she finished but she caught it just in time. She knew they could hear the hurt in her tone and let them think it was because she would miss the palace and parties; in reality just thinking about her mother and sister's arrival to the city had caused her throat to burn, tears threatening to build in her eyes. She couldn't see them, would have to make sure to keep as much distance between them as possible while they were here, but it broke her heart to think they would be nearby and she would have to spend her time hiding from them. There were still nights she laid in bed sobbing silently into her pillow just thinking about the family she could never see again.  
  
“Very good,” Diana stated with a firm nod, and then she looked back at Lexa, apparently finished with the dark-haired woman. “Your Majesty, if you have a moment I would like to go over your plan for council meetings this summer. It had been my intention to be here sooner but unfortunately a couple of things came up that delayed me, so I would greatly appreciate it if you would catch me up on what I've missed.”  
  
“Of course, Lady Diana,” Lexa agreed, her arms folding neatly behind her back. Before she left she looked back at Clarke, nodding to her solemnly. “Mistress Blake, thank you for another excellent dance. I hope you have a wonderful evening. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”  
  
“You honor me with your kindness, Your Majesty,” Clarke returned, dipping into another curtsy. “I don't see how anyone could have anything less than a wonderful evening while at one of your parties.” She saw the corners of the brunette's lips quirk upwards for the flash of a second before smoothing out again, and then she was stepping away with Diana beside her, the two falling into a conversation Clarke was sure would be far less entertaining than their own had been.  
  
She was about to turn to try to find Sterling again and apologize for being away for so long when she realized the queen's adviser hadn't followed them. He stood rooted in place, his dark eyes looking down at her with a hint of disdain, his lips pursed in a hard line.  
  
“I'm sorry my lord, was there something you needed?” she asked, relatively sure she knew what he was going to say. He had the rigid posture of someone very much stuck in the stereotypes of the classes, his own nobility coating him as though he wore it for armor.  
  
“Yes,” he answered, and though she could tell he was trying to keep his voice even she could hear his dislike for her coloring his tone, “instead of waiting for when the Griffins arrive, you can stop accepting these invitations now. You do not belong here, Mistress Blake, and it is time for you to realize that. It is disgraceful enough that so many young noblemen choose to buy your services, it's worse that they think it's alright to bring you here. At the very least you need to stop speaking with Her Majesty.”  
  
Warm anger fizzled under her skin, something she welcomed far more than the tightness that had been in her chest as she spoke of her family. Nevertheless she did a better job of keeping her voice even than he did, simply lifting her eyebrows as she replied lightly, “If a noble wants to invite me, my lord, I see no reason not to accept. And it would be rude and disrespectful of me to ignore the queen. I am fully aware of the differences in our stations, but if you haven't noticed she is the one who has always approached me. I can't ignore a royal request.”  
  
Anger flashed in his eyes and she watched as he somehow stood even straighter, noticing a similarity between how he stood now and how Lexa stood when she was angry. “Her Majesty has more important things to do than waste her time speaking with a commoner,” he stated, “and you need to understand that. Your being here has caused enough upset among the nobility, but the fact that the queen speaks to you so much is something no one has missed. It would be very wise of you to stay away from her.”  
  
She could hear some kind of thinly veiled threat beneath his words and clenched her own jaw, eyes flashing. For a second she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying something that could just get her into trouble, and then she bowed her head to him slightly, fighting to remain polite. “I don't mean to argue with you, my lord, but if the queen doesn't have a problem with my being here then I see no reason not to come back, and if she wants to speak with me or dance with me then I won't refuse. She _is_ the queen, after all.”  
  
His nostrils flared in fury, clearly about to say more but neither of them had noticed someone approach them. A hand reached out and settled on his shoulder and he glanced over, fighting to maintain an appearance of indifference.  
  
“Titus, Lord Costa is looking for you,” Anya told him, nodding back in the direction she'd just come. “He wants to go over the export of wheat with you.” He stared back at Clarke for another few seconds and she didn't look away until he finally turned and left them without another word. She watched him as he went, doing everything she could to try not to glare at him as he made his way through the crowd.  
  
“You certainly seem to know how to pick a fight,” a voice said, breaking her attention and she quickly glanced back to the woman still in front of her. Anya was giving her a look, a single eyebrow cocked in either amusement or study, Clarke couldn't quite tell which. “I can't decide whether it makes you brave or stupid that you like to pick them with nobles so much.”  
  
“It is never my intention to argue with the nobility, my lady,” she replied as carefully as she could, residual anger still flowing through her from her confrontation with Titus. She eyed the other woman over momentarily, taking in the fine breeches and silk tunic she wore as well as the sword she held strapped to her waist. One hand rested against its pommel casually and when the redhead looked up she found intelligent brown eyes studying her right back. “Are you also here to warn me to keep my distance from Her Majesty?” she wanted to know, trying to keep her voice light as she began to fall into a curtsy.  
  
“Stop it,” Anya said and Clarke froze, frowning. “We can talk without you doing all of that.” She gestured to the redhead, waving her hand a little in front of her and Clarke stood up again, feeling a little like Lexa with how her shoulders settled back firmly into place. “I don't care who the queen talks to,” she continued, almost looking bored with the conversation. “All I care about is her safety. So long as you're not planning to hurt her, it doesn't matter to me if you're here or not. These idiots can drool all over themselves for you and the queen can dance with you all she wants.”  
  
Her no-nonsense way of looking at it surprised Clarke, successfully wiping away the last traces of her anger from her conversation with Titus. “Well that's... good,” she replied, for a moment at a loss for words. Memories of walking through the streets with the brunette filled her head, of the kinds of people they'd walked by and of what could easily have happened to the queen, and a cold guilt pooled in her stomach. If all this woman cared about was the queen's safety then she'd be less than impressed to find out that only days ago Clarke had been leading her through the streets of the city. Apparently she managed to keep it out of her expression because Anya just nodded, looking away from her now to let her eyes scan over the crowd, appearing bored. “And as far as Titus goes, he's all bark and no bite, so you don't need to worry about him either.”  
  
Clarke watched the other woman looking over the room, and despite her easy posture she could tell it wouldn't take more than a second for her to draw her sword and engage with an enemy if she thought her queen were in danger. For a second her guilt solidified, remembering the worry that had gnawed for so long at her gut with the queen standing in her bed room, and nearly told her about Lexa's escape from the palace, but she managed to keep her mouth shut. The words bubbled up her throat but she held them in, pretending to smooth a wrinkle out of her dress. As worried as she was about the queen putting herself in danger like that she couldn't betray the other woman's trust, and that's exactly what she would be doing if she said anything. Besides, saying something to Anya wouldn't do any good since she wouldn't be able to tell her exactly how the queen had managed to get away and it would only give her more problems to deal with. She was already searching for an unidentified lord and his lackey, she didn't need to take on anything else on top of it.  
  
To keep herself from saying anything, she began to curtsy again and then locked her knees when she noticed Anya give her a look. “I apologize, my lady, but I should be getting back to Lord Sterling. I've been away from him for far too long already.” A sound came from the back of the older woman's throat, her lips curling up in mild amusement. “Sterling, huh?” She looked up, probably to locate the young lesser lord. “No wonder you wanted to get away and dance with Lexa for a little while. Good luck with that.” Her tone told her exactly what she thought of the younger lord even more than her words did, and Clarke had to fight hard to keep herself from smiling. She really couldn't agree more, but couldn't let anyone know that, not while Sterling was the one paying her for the evening. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Anya,” she just said and Anya let out another little scoff. “If you say so, Mistress Blake.”  
  
With that Clarke pealed herself away from the older woman and scanned the room for a moment before she spotted Sterling in a corner with a number of other younger nobles. Plastering a smile on her face she headed over to him, silently reminding herself she only had to pretend to enjoy his company for another few hours. 

***

Beside her Aden fought a yawn and lost, trying to hide it behind a hand and only being so successful. Silently Lexa agreed and had to fight back her own yawn, exhausted after a long evening of trying to please people. Anya grinned on the other side of her brother, bumping his side with her hip.  
  
“Wake up, Squire,” she told him, “you're not done yet for the night.” The prince shot her a little glare and Lexa hid a smile as he muttered, “I don't get how you can still be so awake.”  
  
“I'm fairly sure she's a demon,” Lexa told him quietly, making sure her expression didn't shift as she scanned around the Great Hall. Only handfuls of people remained, the last of the party, and like Aden she was ready for all of them to go. “Demons don't need sleep like the rest of us.” He let out an amused laugh and Anya's grin just grew, flashing Lexa a look that only made her more sure of her demon status.  
  
Slowly the last few people trickled out of the hall, and as soon as they did servants began making their way in to clean everything up. Stacks of dishes were loaded into bins and onto trays, leftover food was carted out of the room and tablecloths were swept away to be washed. Lexa watched it all for a minute, noticing far more now after her escape into the city than she had before, but knew better than to change anything in her routine. Instead she turned and led the way out of the room, her friend and brother falling into place behind her. They didn't make it very far through the halls before Titus found them as well and he quickly took his place beside her.  
  
“I told Lady Diana you would put together a scroll for her to go into greater detail of what has already been discussed with the other nobles regarding trade routes and supplies for each house and village,” she informed him, not looking over to her adviser. “I'd like you to get that to her within the next couple of days. She wants to go over it before Lady Griffin and the other Arkadian nobles arrive.”  
  
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he agreed with a nod, “I can get that for her tomorrow.” Lexa waited, knowing there was something he wanted to say from the way he wouldn't look at her, and soon enough found she was right. He stopped suddenly and they all stopped a step behind him, and when Lexa turned back she met hard dark eyes. She held in a sigh, sure she wasn't going to like whatever this was. “Your Majesty, I want to talk to you about Mistress Blake.”  
  
Lexa turned and started walking forward again, knowing it might be better if she wasn't looking at him while they had this conversation. He followed after her and she heard Aden and Anya follow him, but didn't look back. “What about her did you want to talk about, Titus?”  
  
“She shouldn't be allowed in the palace,” he said, and Lexa could hear in his tone just how much he didn't like even talking about her. “Someone of her position has no place here.”  
  
“'Someone of her position?'” Lexa repeated, doing her best to keep her voice even. She walked with her hands hanging easily at her side and had to purposefully keep them from curling into fists. “What exactly do you mean by that?”  
  
“She's a commoner, Your Majesty,” he stated, and Lexa immediately replied, “Most of the nation is.” She could practically feel the look he was giving her and knew if he was a less composed person he would likely be rolling his eyes. “Yes but these parties are not meant for most of the nation. They are supposed to be opportunities for the nobles to come together in peace to build on the trust you've created with the reformation of the Kongeda now that the war is over. She is disrupting that.”  
  
The queen lifted an eyebrow, still refusing to turn towards him as she turned down a hallway and the three of them followed her. “Clarke is disrupting the reformation of the Kongeda? How, Titus?” From the corner of her eye she saw his jaw clench almost imperceptibly. “She makes many of the nobles uneasy, Your Majesty. They don't think someone in her profession should be allowed to attend your parties and worry about the influence she is having on their children.”  
  
“I like Clarke,” Aden spoke up, and Lexa finally let herself glance back over her shoulder. Her brother walked easily just a step or two behind Titus and didn't even flinch under the glare the adviser shot at him before her could stop himself. “She's funny, and she has an interesting perspective on everything. I never would have suspected a commoner would be so comfortable in the middle of so many nobles but she's never had a problem.”  
  
“Your Highness, do you remember her argument with Lord Quint the other night?” Titus wanted to know, but this time it was Anya who spoke. She gave the older man a look, informing him, “Quint's an ass, Titus, everyone knows that. I was just impressed with how she stood her ground against him. Not even a lot of nobles will do that.”  
  
“The fact still remains she started an argument in the middle of the Great Hall,” Titus informed her before turning his attention back on Lexa. “Your Majesty, she has become a distraction to you,” he insisted, not backing down. “You waste time every week speaking with her when there are more important things you could be doing, more important people you could be talking to. I spoke with Lord Emerys tonight about the possibility of an engagement between you and Myers and if you hadn't been dancing with her you could have-”  
  
“Enough Titus,” Lexa cut in, tired of listening to him. She knew he meant well but every time he began talking about possible suitors it made her stomach roll, and she really wasn't interested in listening to him degrade Clarke anymore than he already had. She wanted to tell him how that commoner was smarter than any of the nobles she'd had to speak to so far this entire summer but she didn't, entirely aware he wouldn't listen. “I can assure you I am not distracted. In fact, I am more focused now on bettering the Kongeda than I have ever been before. I will not tell my people who they can and cannot invite to the palace and if any of them invite Clarke then I will not ignore her when she's here because that makes her my guest. As for Emerys and Myers, _I_ will be the one deciding who my suitor will be, not you.”  
  
“When, Your Majesty?” he wanted to know, something like a demand almost coloring his words. “The summer is nearly half over and you don't seem to have given it any thought. All of the nobles best suited for becoming king are here but you haven't given any of them any indication you care. This nation needs a king, needs an heir and you-”  
  
“I said enough Titus!” Lexa interrupted again, raising her voice. He immediately went quiet as she turned on him, eyes flashing. “Do not lecture me on what my nation needs or my duties to it; I am very much aware of what I need to do, and I will do it, but I will make this decision in _my_ way and in _my_ time.” She met his eyes as they scanned her face, refusing to look away. “Do you understand me?” His eyes flickered back to hers, holding them for a moment, and then all at once his head dropped into a respectful bow. “Yes, Your Majesty. I apologize if I overstepped.” She waited for a second and then nodded, turning to continue her way down the hall. “Good. Now if you'll excuse me, it's late and I have a meeting with Lord Nyko first thing in the morning.”  
  
Titus broke away from their group, probably to go to his own room, and the three continued up a flight of stairs to the next floor. They reached Aden's room first and bade the prince goodnight, Anya reminding him that no matter how tired he was they still had training in the morning, and then kept going until they reached Lexa's room. The queen nodded to the two Guards standing outside it as they bowed, but unlike most nights when she opened the door rather than bid her a good night Anya followed her inside, not bothering to wait for an invitation in. Lexa didn't say anything, just moved over to the center of the room as she closed the door behind them. With the door closed she rolled her shoulders a few times, trying to ease the tension out of them.  
  
“Help me out of this,” she said, plucking at the sleeves of her dress and her best friend moved up behind her, slowly working at the intricate ties at the back that held the fabric up. As Anya worked behind her she glared down at the silk dress, muttering, “I can't wait until the summer's over and I can go back to tunic and breeches instead of all these stupid dresses.”  
  
“I'd think you would be getting used to them,” she heard Anya say lightly behind her as she felt the fabric around her shoulders begin to give way. “You've worn them enough lately.”  
  
“Yeah well what's a queen without a pretty dress?” she asked sarcastically and then let out a chuckle when Anya answered immediately, “More comfortable.” After that they stood in silence for a few minutes while Anya finished untying the back of the dress and then helped the brunette get out of it. Soon Lexa was in her nightgown, the fabric looser and more freeing than any of her many ballgowns, and she could breathe a little easier. Once she was dressed she glanced up and met her best friend's eyes, finding understanding and something almost like pity in the light brown pools.  
  
“You know you're going to have to decide, Lexa,” she murmured quietly, her tone far more gentle than it almost ever was. “I know you don't want to, but you'll have to. You can't put it off forever.”  
  
A pit dropped in her stomach and fire burned up her throat before she could entirely squash it, knowing exactly what she was referring to. “I know,” she replied just as quietly, having to look away from those eyes that knew her better than anyone else. “I'll do my duty, just... not yet.”  
  
She felt a hand on her shoulder and Lexa looked up again, finding Anya standing just in front of her. Her hand squeezed her shoulder for a brief second, clearly trying to tell her she understood and that she was sorry, before falling away again. She turned to let herself out of the room, tossing back behind her in a much more usual tone, “You're welcome to join us for training tomorrow too. I'd be happy to knock your ass to the dirt just like when you were a kid.” Lexa saw her flash her a grin over her shoulder and just like that her chest felt just a little bit lighter. “I'll join you after my meeting with Nyko,” she replied, giving the other woman a nod, “but you're wrong about whose ass will end up in the dirt.”  
  
“Hm,” Anya let out in a small scoff and then she left, pulling the door open and then closing it again as she slipped out of the room, and just like that the queen was left alone with just her thoughts.  
  
Between all the many conversations of the night, Lexa had dozens of things she could have let her mind wander through. She was afraid about where many of those thoughts might take her though, the pit in her stomach from her conversations with Titus and then Anya still fresh, so instead of letting any of them take over she made her way to her desk across the room, pushed up against the far wall. She sat down and opened a drawer, pulling out a quill and inkwell and setting both on the surface of the desk before reaching back into the drawer and taking out a bound book of mostly blank parchment. Quickly she flipped through it until she found what she had been working on every night since her adventure in the streets of her city, and then dabbed her quill into the ink and began writing where she had left off the night before. Polis was what she wanted to think about – what she had been thinking about for days now – and she let the memories of all she'd seen in those couple of hours play through her mind. Her eyes had been opened to a city she didn't fully understand, had never expected, and ever since then her thoughts had been racing about all she could do with this new information, how she could work to make the lives of her people better.  
  
Like every time she thought about that night her mind always circled back to a woman with burgundy hair and mysterious blue eyes, and it was these thoughts she was pretty sure she would never get enough of. As she scribbled down ideas and possibilities on the parchment in front of her, Clarke's face played behind her eyes and Lexa didn't fight against it, letting the distraction push everything else away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I love all of your amazing comments! Thank you all for taking the time to read this story (and comment if you enjoy doing so)!


	10. Chapter Ten

Just as before, the first thing Lexa noticed as she stepped into The Rig was the noise, loud moans and grunting echoing down the hallway and the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin layered beneath them. Somehow she managed to keep her face straight, didn't let the way the sounds made her stomach flip or her mouth dry show. Tonight there was only one man standing against the wall waiting to be seen to, his eyes flicking over to her and glancing her over before looking back towards the hallway. Clarke's mistress – Luna, if she remembered correctly – sat behind her desk as she'd been the last time she'd been here, looking up from the parchment in front of her for only a second to see who had entered before looking back down. The same man stood behind her and Lexa noticed his eyes fall to the sword strapped to her hip, its outline clear beneath her cloak. She kept her hands visible in front of her, not wanting to start any trouble: she was relatively sure she could take him in a fight, but his arms were well-muscled and the space was cramped. If he did draw the weapon she could see strapped to his back, they would have little foot room to move and that would leave her at the disadvantage.  
  
“Clarke is entertaining,” Luna stated before she'd had a chance to say anything, “if you're here to see her you'll have to wait. It shouldn't be long.” The queen said nothing, just nodded to her and then moved across the room to stand by the wall. She was a little surprised there weren't any chairs or benches set up for those waiting but figured the mistress had decided they weren't necessary. From what she'd observed the last time no one ever had to wait very long, few having to stand around for more than fifteen minutes before being led further into the building and it was likely there that their comfort was seen to. For her part it felt like she'd been sitting all day, going from one meeting to another and the stretch in her legs felt like a much needed relief. If she were anyone else she might have leaned against the wall while she stood there but years of lessons in good posture kept her from doing so. Instead she linked her hands together in front of her and closed her eyes, doing her best to drown out the noises as she let her mind wander.  
  
Titus was getting more insistent on choosing someone to be her husband. Even after her warning the other night it seemed to be all he could talk about now when they were alone or with Anya and his reminder how she needed to do her duty to herself and her people echoed over and over again in her mind. He wanted her to choose Nyko, the only unmarried head of house, or Ryder or Penn. He had argued for Cage a couple of times too, reminding her that Mount Weather was the wealthiest house, owning more gold than even her family had. Over the past couple of days she'd tried to envision herself married to any of them but any time she'd thought of any of them touching her her stomach had rolled and she'd had to swallow down the bile that tried to rise up her throat. Now every time Titus tried to bring it up she promptly changed the subject as best she could. She knew her adviser could see through her but luckily he was too proper to try to argue with her.  
  
It was easy enough not to think about her impending suitor decision; ever since her first journey into Polis, she'd been able to think about little other than the city. She'd only been able to wander around for a short time but the things she had seen had certainly opened her eyes. Most of it she'd seen before, the rags and dirt, children running through crowds and men and women screaming after them, but from atop her horse and surrounded by soldiers it all looked so different. Clarke was right, she'd needed to walk through the streets to truly see them, and images of what she'd seen had flashed across her mind constantly ever since. Big men yelling at each other and anyone who got in their way, just pushing those smaller than them aside as they walked as though they owned the whole street; women carrying buckets and sacks filled with food or wares, others tossing soil from their chamberpots out the window and anyone below having to dodge out of the way of its vile contents; filthy children running around, weaving their way through crowds, many of them sticking their hands in pockets and purses as they went and pulling out whatever they found before disappearing; people of all ages and genders dressed in rags that barely covered them, now more bones than skin as they sat back away from the crowd, too hungry to have the energy even to beg for coin or food.  
  
The queen couldn't quite believe how different it all was from what she'd been expecting, and every time she'd thought about those people with nothing a strange kind of hurt had washed through her, feeling far too much like guilt for her to be comfortable. She'd been up late almost every night since then writing it all down, jotting down ideas of how to help her people, but she knew it just wasn't enough. Despite the horrors she'd needed to come back, to experience more, and so as soon as she'd found the chance she had snuck away again.  
  
The sound of bare feet padding along the wooden floor pulled her attention back to the present and she opened her eyes, looking down the hallway. Clarke and two others were walking towards the small waiting room, the redhead and young woman with her both wearing light robes while the man with them was fully dressed, readjusting his belt as he walked. Lexa barely looked at the man or other girl, her eyes immediately drawn to Clarke and in turn Clarke looked at her, a flash of surprise flickering across her face before the queen saw her let out a silent sigh that grew into a very small smile. It made Lexa somehow feel instantly lighter than she had a moment ago and before she was entirely aware of it she was returning that smile.  
  
“Always worth my money,” the man the two women were walking with said with a grin, lightly tapping his knuckles against the desk as he passed it. “You sure know how to pick 'em, Mistress Flou.” Luna nodded as she looked up at him. “Then I suppose we'll be seeing you again soon, Master Morris.” He grinned at her and then took his exit, strutting out of the building.  
  
“Lania, take Master Grant upstairs to room eight,” Luna said, apparently speaking to the young woman with Clarke. The woman, a true redhead with light auburn hair and soft brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across the ridge of her nose, nodded before turning her focus to the man who had been waiting not far from Lexa. “This way, Master Grant.” He pushed himself off the wall and followed her down the hall.  
  
The moment they were gone Luna's attention returned to the parchments on her desk, seemingly not caring about the two women. Lexa watched as Clarke took a few steps closer, doing everything in her power to not let her gaze drop from the other woman's face. Clarke's robe was a light blue that almost matched her eyes but was extremely thin, to the point where she was fairly sure she'd be able to see through the fabric if she stared hard enough. Not only that but all it had to keep it closed was a sash around its middle, one that Clarke's fingers fiddled with, and it showed a tantalizing amount of her chest.  
  
“My lady, such a surprise!” she exclaimed, beaming radiantly up at Lexa and the queen forgot for a moment how to swallow. She knew Clarke was only putting on a show for the others in the room but she was without a doubt an excellent performer, an observation she had made before but always seemed to forget. “Another visit, and not even a full week after your last one.” She closed the space between them, slipping her arms around one of Lexa's and the brunette wasn't sure she'd ever felt a more comforting weight before. “You're going to spoil me.”  
  
“I just... wanted to see you again,” Lexa replied lamely, glancing back over to Luna for a split second and then back to Clarke. She was not nearly as great a performer as the redhead and knew it would be better for the younger woman to take the lead until they were alone. Clarke's beautiful smile widened and her hold on the queen's arm tightened before she began leading her out of the waiting area and down the hall. “Well then come on, let's go somewhere where you can see more of me.” The implication made Lexa's cheeks heat up but she didn't say anything, just let Clarke lead her through the building just as she'd done before.  
  
The moment they were safely in Clarke's room with the door shut behind her the younger woman's act dropped, and this time when she turned to look at the queen it was with a single raised eyebrow. “Nothing I say is going to convince you to stop doing this, is it?” she asked, crossing her arms over her front and Lexa couldn't help but notice how the movement pushed her bosom together and displayed it even more prominently than usual. She didn't let her eyes drop to it, instead made sure not to look away from the cerulean eyes giving her an exasperated look and shook her head. “No,” she answered, reaching up to start removing her cloak. She didn't need it anymore and it was hot in this building, for some reason even more so in Clarke's bedroom. Carefully she untied its strings and then began neatly folding it up, laying it down on the bed once she was done. “There's still a lot of my city to see and I need to see it.”  
  
With her back now to the other woman she didn't see Clarke sigh but she did hear it. A moment later it was followed by, “Whatever you say. I still think this is a bad idea though.” Lexa turned around again as she began to remove her belt, assuming Clarke would again not allow her to bring her sword with them, and found the dark-haired woman already moving over to her closet. As she'd done the last time she ruffled through the items in it for a moment before dragging out the same brown dress along with a pair of hose. The queen nodded her thanks as she accepted them and then turned back towards the bed, putting them down and freeing her hands to start pulling at her clothing.  
  
Just as she was about to pull her loose shirt over her head she heard a rustling behind her and automatically turned around to see what it was. Her eyes widened when all she saw was pale skin and dark hair running halfway down Clarke's back. Her robe now laid pooled at her feet and all Lexa could do was stare at the perfect skin that made up the woman's back, only a few fading pink marks and a couple of freckles blemishing it. The back dipped down into what could only be a soft round bottom, and though she'd never stared quite so blatantly at any others Lexa knew without a doubt it was the most beautiful butt she'd ever seen. The sight of Clarke's bare skin caused her brain to short-circuit and despite the indecency of it she couldn't look away.  
  
Clarke pulled another dress out of her closet, looking over her shoulder when she didn't hear any other movements and found the queen staring wide-eyed at her. Her lips were just barely parted as though her jaw had begun to drop but she'd caught it, eyes raking over her skin. For some reason the look made her skin heat up and butterflies suddenly swarm in her stomach, strange only because she was used to people staring at her naked and it had never quite caused this reaction before.  
  
“What?” she asked over her shoulder, not turning around anymore fully. If she did the queen might see that her nipples had stiffened and were quickly turning to peaks and she couldn't have that. She also made sure not to let her thighs press together, even if the stare was causing an uncomfortable heat between them. “I can't walk around the city in my robe. We won't get a hundred yards before people decide I must be open for business and I would really rather not deal with the trouble that will cause.”  
  
Clarke's voice snapped Lexa out of the stupor she'd fallen into, a hard blush flooding her cheeks. Quickly she turned around, both to give the other woman her privacy and to try to hide her reaction. “No,” she mumbled quickly, her mouth still dry. The tips of her fingers itched to run over her skin, to find out how soft it really was, so she grabbed the hem of her shirt instead, needing something to hold onto. “Of course not, you're right. You just caught me by surprise. I apologize for staring, it, it was very rude.”  
  
“You don't need to apologize,” she heard Clarke tell her but didn't dare to turn around. If all she found was pale skin again she wasn't sure she'd be able to force herself to look away a second time. “I probably should have warned you.” Lexa nodded only because she didn't know what else to say and then forced herself to focus on changing into the dress on the bed. The moment she removed her own clothes she felt her skin prickle, though whether it was from the air now hitting it or the thought that they were now both bare she didn't know and probably didn't want to know. She could hear Clarke moving behind her and pulling on her dress so Lexa focused on getting into her own.  
  
By the time they were both dressed Lexa's cheeks had cooled down and the butterflies in Clarke's stomach had settled. When they faced each other again it was calmly, a cool mask of control on the queen's face and an easy one on Clarke's. The dark-haired woman was even able to help tie up the back of Lexa's dress without letting her hands wander, though the tips of her fingers tingled to run down along the brunette's shoulders and Lexa found herself holding her breath until the other woman had stepped away again. Neither of them said a word as they dressed and once they were done the dark-haired woman eyed them both over and then gestured towards the door, leading the way out of her room.  
  
Just as they got to the staircase someone else was coming up it, and Clarke watched as Niylah eyed over the two of them as she stepped into the hallway. Clarke wasn't hanging off Lexa as she would a normal guest and she knew the other woman would notice that so when light brown eyes met hers she just gave her a simple smile, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped.  
  
“Niylah,” she greeted before gesturing to the woman beside her, “this is my friend Lexa.” Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw the queen's lips curl up into a tiny smile for just a second but then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Niylah continued to look them over, reading Clarke in that way she hated, and then she was just looking at Lexa, both eyebrows lifting a little.  
  
“It's nice to meet you Lexa,” she told her, giving her a slight nod. “Are you a new worker here?” The queen's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by the thought, but Clarke answered before she could say anything. “No, she's not a whore, she's just a friend. She... just moved to Polis so I'm showing her around.” She began to step by Niylah, Lexa following behind her, when Niylah asked, “I thought you were working tonight?”  
  
“I was but I decided to take the night off,” she replied lightly, giving her friend a smile. She tried to keep going but before she could Niylah had reached out, fingers gently curling around her wrist and stopping her. She winced internally; she had been avoiding Niylah ever since she'd pushed her way into the other woman's room a week and a half ago, and now was not the time she wanted to have the conversation she could read in the blonde's expression.  
  
“Clarke,” Niylah began softly, glancing over at the strange brunette with her and then stepping a little closer to her friend. “Look at me.” Almost against her will Clarke did just that, finding just what she'd been afraid she would see in those honey-brown eyes. “We should talk. If you want. About the other night.”  
  
“Not now, Niylah,” she said, lightly trying to pull her arm back but her friend's grip got just a fraction tighter so she couldn't. “When, Clarke?” she wanted to know. “You've been avoiding me.” She winced at the hurt she could hear coloring the other woman's tone and immediately felt guiltier than she'd already felt. Not only had she once again used Niylah to try to quiet the monsters inside her but she'd then pushed her away. When it came to the blonde she always did everything wrong and shame bled into her guilt. She pulled away just enough to get her to release her grip and then took her hand, squeezing it once. “I know. I'm sorry. We'll talk, I promise, but I can't do it right now.” She let Niylah scan her face for a second, making sure not to look away, and the other woman nodded before letting her go.  
  
With that Clarke headed down the stairs, not looking back as she heard the queen follow her. It was bad enough she'd run into Niylah like that to begin with but the fact that it had been in front of her somehow just made it worse. Lexa was quiet for a few seconds as they made their way down the stairs but finally Clarke heard her ask quietly, “Is she... I mean, are you and Niylah... together?”  
  
“No,” she just said, really not wanting to get into it. Unfortunately for her the queen was behind her and couldn't see the way her lips were pursed. “She seems to care for you very much.”  
  
“Can we please not talk about this?” she asked, stopping where she was and turning around. The sudden stop took the queen by surprise and she almost bumped into her, but Clarke didn't care. “Niylah and I... it's just confusing, okay, and I don't really want to talk about it.”  
  
Lexa hesitated for a second, seeing something buried behind her eyes she couldn't quite define, but then nodded. It was none of her business after all, and she certainly didn't want to upset Clarke. She pretended not to feel relieved by Clarke's answer, just as she pretended it hadn't been a spark of jealousy that had flared up in her chest when the other woman had touched her. The redhead met her eyes for another moment and then turned back around, once again heading down the stairs and Lexa followed. Too curious to keep entirely silent, after a minute she asked, “Is it alright for you to just leave like this? I don't want you to get in trouble with your mistress.” She hadn't thought about how this would be interfering with Clarke's work and suddenly she felt guilty for pulling her away from it.  
  
To her surprise the other woman let out a soft scoff, and when she looked over her shoulder at Lexa a small smile had once again curled along her lips. “It's fine, I won't get in trouble. With the nobles I bring in the largest purses, so Luna gives me a little more leeway than some of the others.”  
  
It was true, though not the entire truth, but she couldn't exactly tell the queen that she and Luna had an understanding. Not when that understanding had to do with who she really was and what she was doing. For her part Lexa seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding and returning her smile, and then neither spoke again until they were outside The Rig and standing in the street.  
  
“So what do you want to see tonight?” Clarke asked, glancing over to the other woman. The queen was already looking around, clearly scanning the street and everyone around them, but she just shrugged. “I am happy to follow you, Clarke. You've made it clear you know this city better than I do.”  
  
“Okay but there has to be something specific you want to see or know,” the redhead argued, tilting her head just a fraction to the side. She almost crossed her arms over her chest but then thought better of it; though no longer in one of her robes, the dress she now wore still managed to show off a decent amount of her chest, and she didn't need to draw anymore attention to it than she was already getting. Many of the people walking by them very clearly were staring, and though it was something she pretty much expected by now it didn't mean she exactly liked it. “You're the one who keeps coming to me, so you must have at least some kind of plan.”  
  
The queen looked up as though she were mulling the idea over and then replied slowly, “I want to really understand these people but maybe just walking the streets won't help greatly with that. Is there someway I could observe them a little more closely?” Clarke thought for a second and then a grin slowly tugged at her mouth. “I think I know exactly what we can do. This way.”  
  
She led the queen down the street, the other woman quickly falling into step beside her. Lexa didn't ask any questions and just followed along, and as they fell into an easy silence Clarke let herself steal a glance or two every few steps. Emerald eyes were constantly scanning around her, probably taking in every detail of the people and places they passed, and Clarke wondered if she'd been born naturally observant or if she'd had to develop and hone the skill because of her station. How much of what she saw was the queen and how much was the young woman beneath the title?  
  
As they walked Lexa's hands folded behind her, and the redhead knew without a doubt that was entirely due to her station.  
  
“Can you not walk like that?” she asked, once again looking forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other woman look over to her, obviously confused and she gestured to her arms. “You're walking like a noble. Or at least like someone who cares too much about their posture. Do you see anyone else out here walking with their hands clasped behind their back?”  
  
Lexa hesitated a moment, looking around, and then released her grip on her wrist. “Sorry,” she murmured, “it's become habit.” She shifted to let her arms dangle at her sides as Clarke's did and immediately felt odd. She even tried to slouch a little as those around her did but after a minute stopped, the change in her posture feeling far too wrong. The fact that even the way in which she walked was so much different reminded her just how very separate she was from so many of her people. It wasn't something she liked and very much hoped to change somehow.  
  
Clarke had them weaving in and out of the crowded streets for a mile, stopping beneath a very familiar sign hanging over an even more familiar door. Though it was closed she could hear the noise coming from inside the Dropship almost as though it were open, the usual late-night crowd inside, and pushed her way in. The queen followed without a word, though the younger woman noticed her give the sign a look before stepping through the doorway.  
  
More than a dozen people were already inside, many of them crowding around a long table and hollering at each other as a pair of dice was passed around. A few of the other tables were also full, probably patrons staying at the inn or just people needing a quick drink before returning home. Murphy was over at the long table, giving his signature annoyed stare to the people around it while Emori stood behind the counter, wiping a tankard down with what Clarke assumed was at least a semi-clean cloth. The woman looked up as they walked in and smirked over as the redhead led the pair to the counter.  
  
“Well Mistress Blake, we're always happy to be seeing you. It's been a while.” Clarke hadn't been back to the Dropship since dealing with Bennet and Jenson, though she tried hard not to think about them at the moment. “Let me see what I got for rooms available.” She eyed Lexa over, clearly thinking she was one of the redhead's costumers, and then began to pull out a little book from beneath the counter before Clarke stopped her.  
  
“That's fine Emori, I don't need a room tonight,” she told her, flashing her a simple smile, “just a couple of tankards.” The other woman raised an eyebrow and glanced over to the brunette one more time before shrugging. “Alright, take a table and I'll bring 'em over.”  
  
Clarke led them across the room to an empty table close to the dice game and Lexa followed though the redhead could see the tiny frown tugging at her eyebrows. “Clarke, what are we doing here?” she wanted to know as they sat across from each other and the other woman shrugged. “We're drinking.” When that only made the queen's frown grow Clarke shifted in her seat, leaning over the table so she could speak quietly without being overheard by anyone around them. “You said you want to observe, this is the place to do it. Nothing is more common than men and women drinking and playing dice while they yell at each other.”  
  
“If you say so,” Lexa replied slowly, eyeing over the tables as though she were still unsure. A few seconds later Emori came over to their table and placed a pair of tankards between them, a little of the ale sloshing over the side to drip onto the worn wood. Lexa thought nothing of it and reached for her own but Clarke didn't, instead fiddling around with her dress for a moment before she pulled out a small leather pouch that must have been tucked away in a hidden pocket. Remembering the knife she'd seen the dark-haired woman draw the other night the queen wondered what else she had hidden away. Clarke reached into the pouch and pulled out a couple of copper pieces, dropping them into the serving woman's outstretched hand and Lexa frowned, suddenly feeling very foolish. It had never even occurred to her to bring money for her excursion into the city. She almost never had to handle it, had others who actually paid for everything though she decided how much to spend on anything from food to construction to soldiers throughout the city and across the Kongeda. Because the thought of money had never even crossed her mind now Clarke, a woman who had to sell her body in order to make enough to survive, was paying for her drink, she who was one of the wealthiest people alive. The thought shamed her, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.  
  
“I'll pay you back,” she promised once Emori had walked away. Blue eyes looked up to meet her own as the leather pouch was returned to its hiding place and Clarke just flashed her a smile. “Don't worry about it. I can afford to buy my new friend a drink or two.” Lexa returned her smile even as she tried to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat at the other woman's words. Without looking away she grabbed the tankard in front of her and took a large sip of the drink, too distracted to notice the difference between the scent of this ale and the wine she normally drank. Bitterness clawed at her tongue and she made a face as she forced the swallow down, glance shifting to the dark liquid sloshing in her mug. Even once she'd swallowed an unpleasant aftertaste clung to her tongue and she didn't even try to hide her look of disgust.  
  
Across from her she heard Clarke let out a light laugh and when she looked back up at the other woman she found her shaking her head, a large grin on her face. “Sorry,” she said, though Lexa didn't hear any trace of it in her voice, “I probably should have warned you. I'm sure this is very different from what you usually have.”  
  
“How do you drink this?” the brunette demanded, glaring down at the offensive liquid. She didn't want to so much as take another sip, let alone drink the whole thing. The dark-haired woman across from her just shrugged, raising her own tankard. “You get used to it,” she replied and then Lexa watched as she took a hearty gulp, nothing flashing across her face to say she didn't like it. She let out a loud sigh as she set the tankard back onto the table and then licked her lips to catch the few drops of ale sticking to them. The queen's focus got caught on the pink of her tongue as it ran over her lips and found she couldn't look away. “This batch is actually pretty good. Be glad Emori didn't bring us the cheap stuff.”  
  
“...Whatever you say,” Lexa decided, eyeing her drink once again before she lifted it to take another sip. It was still just as bitter and harsh as the first but at least this time she managed to not make a face at it. Clarke nodded, as though she approved.  
  
For a few minutes the two sat there nursing their tankards and before long the queen was back to surveying her surroundings. There were three women sitting two tables away from them, apparently gossiping and she found herself eavesdropping. Two of them were looking over the men playing dice and debating which of them were married and which might be single, while the third was too busy trying to complain about her mother to contribute. Her friends didn't appear to be listening to her woes in the slightest.  
  
Bored with their conversation, Lexa pried her focus away from the three women and found herself watching the men passing the dice back and forth. There were eight of them ranging all ages, the youngest appearing to be barely more than a boy while the oldest's hair had long since gone gray and thin. All of them roared, most talking over each other, some even threatening those around him when a roll didn't go their way, and Lexa wondered how any of them could even understand what was going on. She'd spent little time in her life playing games and what little time she had hadn't incorporated dice, so she didn't entirely understand what was so exciting.  
  
“Do you play?” she asked suddenly, nodding over towards the table when Clarke looked at her. “Sometimes,” the other woman replied, barely even glancing over. “I don't have much luck with it so I usually just watch. My friend Jasper is great at it though, so sometimes when neither of us are working we come out for a couple of games. Some of our other friends come too. If he wins much he'll usually buy us all a round to celebrate.”  
  
Lexa nodded, trying to picture Clarke enjoying an evening out with her friends. She wondered if she relaxed during those times, if she let her mask slip away and just enjoyed herself, or if she only let her mask slip so far. Looking at her now even with the way her lips were curled into a small smile the queen still felt like the other woman was playing a part, like she was hiding behind a mask and Lexa thought that maybe even with her friends she kept part of herself hidden. It was an idea the queen understood all too well, and one she saw no need to point out. Instead she looked back over to the table, asking, “How do you play?”  
  
Clarke explained the game to the queen, answering the few questions she asked as she went, but her focus was only half on the explanation. She was far more interested in watching the brunette, studying her while she studied the game. Every now and then the queen would take a drink from her tankard, and though it was clear she didn't enjoy it she said nothing else about it, apparently determined to finish it. She could have just sipped at it or left it alone, but she seemed resolved to immerse herself into the life of a commoner as fully as possible. She frowned just a little as Clarke spoke, nodding along with her words, and the redhead wondered if she always approached everything this seriously. From what she'd observed at the palace and now for the second time in Polis, she bet she did.  
  
She'd finished explaining the rules and was watching the queen observe the game when movement along her periphery caught her eye. Wells stepped into the common area from the stairwell and scanned the room as though it were second nature. He clearly hadn't been expecting to find anything out of place but when he saw Clarke she noticed his eyes widen for a brief second before he continued on. He didn't look at her again, obviously not wanting to draw any kind of attention to them, and took a seat by himself at an empty table across the room. After just a minute Emori walked over to him, probably to see what he needed, and then walked away. Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, debating whether or not she dared go over, but then began to stand up. She hadn't been able to see him since he wheeled off with two bodies in the back of his wagon and they needed to talk.  
  
The queen glanced over at her as she rose, her attention torn from the game. Clarke gave her a smile to show nothing was wrong and nodded towards Wells. “I'll be right back. The man over there is one of my regular guests and I'm sure he expects me to say hello now that he's noticed me.” The older woman looked over at Wells, the man positioned so she could only see the back of his head, and lifted her head a little higher, her expression smoothing. “Is everything alright?”  
  
“Of course,” Clarke answered, making sure her smile never wavered. “This will just keep me from having to build his ego back up the next time he hires my services.” She left before the queen could say anything else, quickly making her way across the room. The fact they were in public meant that she had to keep up the charade so when she reached Wells's table she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling her friend stiffen. She knew he realized who it was but hated when they had to do this, so she closed the space between them, whispering in his ear, “Relax.” To anyone watching it would look like she was flirting with him, just another whore with a customer, and that's exactly what they needed it to look like. “I'm going to sit on your lap now so we can talk quietly.” She could feel him hesitate but then he nodded and pushed his chair back just enough so she wouldn't be pressed up against the table. She pulled away just enough to move, smiling flirtatiously at him, and all but fell into his lap, her hands moving up to hook around his neck. He didn't smile, didn't let his expression change, but that was good enough for her.  
  
“Everything went well after the last time I saw you?” she asked, keeping her voice low but making sure to smile. She had to be careful with what she said in the off chance someone did overhear but she didn't worry about that; they knew each other well enough by now that she was sure they could have a conversation about nothing but the weather and still walk away understanding every hidden meaning that no one else would ever be able to pick up on.  
  
Wells nodded, one hand moving to support her back, the touch gentle. “It did,” he replied just as quietly, “no surprises. I've been looking for our friend but haven't had any luck yet.”  
  
She'd expected that, though it was frustrating. “I haven't either,” she told him. They would have to try to come up with a better way to search for this Emerson person other than just talking to people in taverns or trying to locate him at one of the queen's parties. She was about to say more but then saw Emori approaching them from over Wells's shoulder, a tray balanced on one hand that held a tankard and a bowl of stew and a few slices of bread. Emori gave her a look as she stepped up to the table, a smile pulling at her mouth as she lifted an eyebrow.  
  
“Thought you had a friend with you already?” she asked, jerking her head towards the table Clarke had left Lexa at. She placed the food and drink in front of Wells who just sat silently while the redhead smirked up at her, easily falling into her role. “Well yes, but that doesn't mean I can't come over and say hello to my other friend,” she said innocently but with a tinge of teasing coloring her tone. Emori just shook her head but grinned, holding up one hand while she tucked the tray between her arm and side with the other. “Far be it for me to tell you how to do business.” She nodded back towards the table where the brunette still sat and added, “Let me know if you two want anything other than the drinks. We do have a couple of rooms still available.” She finished it with a wink and to Clarke's surprise her throat went a little dry, eyes automatically moving over to the queen. She found Lexa mid-swig, her expression so even no one would know she'd probably never had anything other than wine or at least a very high quality ale before. Against her will the idea of falling into bed with the queen popped into her head, visuals of what the brunette might look like outside of her clothes flashing through her mind before she could stop them and mentally shove them away. It was a foolish thought and one she felt guilty for even having. To the best of her ability she ignored it, pretended it hadn't even happened, and evenly met Emori's look. “That really won't be necessary. Thank you though.”  
  
“If you say so,” the older woman replied with a shrug and then looked back to Wells. He'd remained quiet, just staring straight ahead at his food while they talked. “If you need anything else, just holler.” He nodded without looking up again and she turned around to move back to the counter.  
  
With Emori gone Clarke returned to why she'd come over in the first place, subtly making sure no one else was nearby. She pressed a little closer to Wells, unhooking her hands so that she could draw little patterns along his chest, the picture of a whore trying to get into a possible customer's bed. “We should get together again soon. I'm free tomorrow if you'd like. In the morning?”  
  
“By the river,” he told her, finally tearing his focus away from the food he hadn't touched and looking down at her in his lap. She could read how uncomfortable he was in his dark eyes, but she doubted anyone else could. “Not here. It's been a while since we've met there.” She nodded, knowing what he had in mind. She could use a little change in scenery herself. Clarke let out an exaggerated sigh and then shifted, sliding off his lap and he turned with her. “I'll see you mid-morning by the river then,” she agreed, and then leaned over to press another kiss to his cheek. He must have been busy the last day or two because there was a rough stubble along his cheeks as though he hadn't shaved, something he almost never had. She knew Wells believed firmly in keeping himself well groomed and typically shaved daily, so the fact he hadn't done so meant he must have been too busy. She reached up and brushed her fingers where her lips had been, sadness working its way into her smile despite her best efforts. Clarke wondered if she would ever be able to forgive herself for what she had done to her best friend's life, how she had destroyed it so thoroughly, but knew it wasn't likely.  
  
Wells must have read the look in her eyes because he reached up, slipping her hand in his. “We'll find our friend, m-Mistress Blake,” he promised her, a smile ghosting across his features, “I swear to you.” She gripped his hand tightly, using the steady lifeline that had grounded her from day one and returned his smile. “I know we will. We'll find him.” He looked up at her for another moment and she stared down at him, the two in perfect understanding before Clarke sighed and pulled her hand out of his grip. “I need to be getting back to my table.” A look flashed across Wells's face, his lips pursing before he turned to stare over at the brunette waiting for her. “She's pretty,” he just said, distaste coloring his tone, and a real smile broke out across her expression as she scoffed.  
  
“She's beautiful,” she corrected him, raising an eyebrow at him. He said nothing to that, nothing in his expression changing and she shook her head, not fighting her grin. Leaning down she informed him, “But we're just here for a drink, nothing else. You don't have to be jealous, I still belong to you.” She gave him a wink to add to her flirtatious teasing and Wells shook his head, his lips turning up just a fraction. “You don't belong to anyone, Clarke. We all belong to you.”  
  
She had nothing to say to that, at least nothing she could say where others might overhear it, so she just gave Wells a look. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw movement as one of the men at the dice table got up and when she realized where he was going her eyes followed him, her attention now split. “I have to go,” she told her friend, “I'll see you in the morning.” He nodded in agreement but she didn't wait for it, moving almost as soon as the words were out. Her entire attention was now back on her own table where the queen still sat, the man now leaning against it and smiling down at her. Clarke recognized him and knew nothing would happen, but even so Lexa looked entirely uncomfortable, her back perfectly straight and one hand curled tightly around her tankard. She guessed the queen was wishing she had her sword at the moment and was debating whether she should draw her dagger. Before that could happen Clarke slipped back to the table, raising an eyebrow at the man as she stopped beside him. Crossing her arms over her chest she asked lightly, “Cole, are you bothering my friend?”  
  
Cole, a man who was easily over six feet tall and had ashy blonde hair, grinned down at her. “Me? I wouldn't bother yer friend. Just introducin' myself is all.” He turned to give Lexa another smile, one that had charmed more than one maiden before, but she continued to give him the same polite, disinterested look. Clarke almost laughed at it but held it back, shaking her head. Slipping by him to take her seat across from the queen, she told him lightly, “I hate to break your heart Cole, but she isn't a whore. Introducing yourself isn't going to get you anywhere with her.” His charming smile fell for just a second and the redhead saw something in the queen's eyes flash, but then the big man just shrugged, the smile growing again. “Still never hurts to know a beautiful woman,” he informed them. “I'd be an idiot to let that stop me from introducin' myself.” Looking back at the brunette he nodded, telling her, “Name's Cole Smithson.”  
  
The queen hesitated a moment, glancing at Clarke and then back to the man, and then said evenly, “Lexa.” His grin grew and he reached out a hand which the brunette accepted after just a second. “It's a honor to meet ya, Lexa,” he told her with another grin and Clarke had to take a swig of her drink to hide her smirk. He had no idea just how much of an honor it was. He jerked a thumb over to the redhead, continuing, “Any friend a Clarke's is a good friend to have.”  
  
“You don't say that when Jasper's here,” the younger woman teased lightly, looking up at him from over her tankard and the big man scowled, nearly pouting. Lexa's brow rose just a fraction, unsure what to make of this man but choosing to just sit quietly. “Yeah well he cheats,” Cole accused, crossing his arms over his chest. “When he cheats an honest man outta his money then he ain't a good friend to have.”  
  
A noise rose from the back of Clarke's throat as she raised an eyebrow, looking over to the dice table. “You and I both know there's never a single honest man playing that game,” she told him, and then she shrugged as she turned back to her tankard. “And if Jasper does cheat, you haven't been able to prove it yet. He's just lucky.”  
  
“Course he is,” Cole agreed with a wistful sigh, “he gets ta spend his time with you.” He leaned down, a teasing glint in his big brown eyes. “I could use a bit a that luck myself. It's why I came over here.” He nodded to Lexa, flashing her another smile. “That and to meet yer friend.” Looking back over at Clarke he gave her his most charming smile. “Any chance ya'd give me a kiss for luck?” She seemed to think it over for a second and then crooked her finger at him, gesturing for him to lean down. He did eagerly and she lightly grabbed his chin, turning his face so she could press a quick kiss to his cheek. “There,” she said as he pulled away, wrapping both hands around her tankard. “You'll have to pay for the next one.” She winked at him as she took another drink of her ale and he grinned down at her. “No problem,” he replied, puffing his chest out in exaggeration. “With yer kiss a luck I'll be winnin' in no time.” He returned her wink with his own and then flashed another smile at Lexa as he nodded before turning to rejoin the game.  
  
“You seem to know him well,” Lexa observed once he'd walked away. The queen had watched the entire interaction, both interested and amused by the way they teased each other. She hadn't been sure what to make of the big man when he'd made his way over to the table, but Clarke had rejoined her only seconds later it seemed and handled him with an easy grace that the queen almost envied. Any uncertainty she'd had about him had melted away as the redhead steered the conversation away from her mysterious friend.  
  
For her part Clarke shrugged as she took a sip from her ale. “Every now and then when he wins enough he'll come over to The Rig and usually I'm the one to see him,” she told her once she'd swallowed. “Cole's a good enough guy, as far as men go. I don't know if I'd go so far as to call him a gentle giant, but he definitely looks like more trouble than he actually is.” Lexa nodded, gaze drifting back to the spot where the man had sat down just in time to see someone pass him the dice. He rolled and then let out a loud holler, pumping his fist up in victory as some of the people around him groaned. Apparently Clarke's lucky kiss had paid off, for this roll at least. For some reason that didn't surprise the queen in the slightest.  
  
The two stayed at the Dropship until both tankards were empty, and despite the awful aftertaste Lexa was proud of herself for managing to get the entire thing down. The slight heat she could feel starting in her stomach and slowly crawling towards her limbs certainly didn't hurt, though the one drink wasn't enough to really make her feel intoxicated. For another few minutes they stayed there but eventually the queen knew she needed to begin making her way back to the palace. Last time it had taken almost two hours to get from The Rig back safely into her room without being spotted and she doubted it would be any faster this time. When she mentioned needing to get back Clarke nodded, standing up and leading the way back out into the street. Before she left the dark-haired woman nodded towards the woman once again behind the counter and Lexa did the same, following her lead.  
  
The walk back to The Rig was quiet, both women content to listen to the bustle of the streets around them rather than try to talk over it. Lexa still couldn't believe everything she saw, stopping for a moment to watch a man and what must have been his daughter, the pair playing some instruments to the small crowd that had gathered around them. The man played a lute, his voice rising above it as he plucked at its strings. The girl played a recorder, the sound basic but no less lovely as it wound in with the notes from the lute. A couple of people tossed copper pieces at their feet as they played and whenever they did the man would smile and nod at them gratefully while never missing a note of his song. Lexa was lost in the sounds long enough that Clarke finally had to tug lightly at her arm to pull her away.  
  
They were only a few yards away from The Rig when the people in front of them parted and Clarke got a look at her home. Immediately her disposition shifted, more on alert than she had been a moment ago. Jasper and Harper stood outside the door but rather than appear relaxed or aloof as usual, Jasper was pacing and Harper was shifting from one foot to the other. Both appeared slightly pale, though it was difficult to really tell in the dark around them. Clarke picked up her pace, the queen apparently noticing her shift and moving right along behind her. Harper was the first one to see her and she grabbed at Jasper, halting him in his tracks. He glared at her and then followed her eyes to Clarke, relief momentarily flashing across his face. “Clarke!”  
  
“What is it?” she asked without preamble, clearly seeing that something was wrong. Already her pulse had picked up, afraid of what they would say, but even so she wasn't ready for it.  
  
“Monty,” Harper said, her voice hoarse as though she had been crying. Clarke quickly scanned her face, not seeing any signs of tears but her eyes were bright, as though she were barely holding them back. “Dax. He got him.”  
  
For the flash of a second Clarke's heart stopped, fear striking through her and then the next second she was pushing past them, now running into The Rig. She heard footsteps behind her and knew that all three of them were following her, but didn't turn back as she demanded, “Where is he?”  
  
“Luna's room,” Jasper informed her, his voice directly behind her. She wondered how long they had been out there and how anyone had managed to pry Jasper away from his best friend but didn't bother with asking, too focused on getting to Luna's room as quickly as she could. She had no doubt that the moment he had heard he'd been by Monty's side, but since he had no training in healing he probably hadn't been able to do anything. None of them said anything else, just ran to the stairs at the back of the house.  
  
A few people were gathered outside Luna's doors, other whores who had heard what happened. Clarke pushed through them, too afraid and determined to be polite, and finally she practically stumbled into Luna's bedroom. There she froze, barely even feeling it when Jasper ran into her back at the sudden stop.  
  
Monty laid on Luna's bed but if she hadn't already known it was him, Clarke might not have immediately recognized him. One eye had swollen completely shut and the other had bruising around it and looked like it was still swelling as well. His nose was clearly broken and dried blood painted his upper lip and had dripped along his lower to mix into the blood that came from a split down its center. A cut had opened up at his hairline and was still bleeding sluggishly, the red dripping down the side of his face. Somebody had already removed his shirt which meant Clarke could see the dark bruises that nearly covered his torso, the skin torn in a few places from cuts that looked like they had bled lightly. While Monty moved slightly when he saw her in the doorway, she noticed that his right arm laid uselessly on the bed beside him.  
  
Maya and Niylah were already in the room, the younger girl using a damp cloth to wipe at the blood on his face, clearly trying to be gentle. Niylah stood behind her, crushing herbs together in a bowl to be used as a poultice on either the bruises or the cuts, Clarke couldn't be sure which without getting a better look at them. On the other side of the bed were Luna and Derrick, the woman holding a large pot of hot water obviously meant for tea or cleaning. It all felt far too familiar, all too much like the scene she'd walked into barely more than a month ago and Clarke's fury boiled over. Before she even knew what she was doing she had crossed the room and grabbed Luna by the shoulders, shaking her once. Luckily for them both Luna had seen her coming and shoved the pot into Derrick's hands just before she got there otherwise they both would have been splashed with the hot water.  
  
“How could you let this happen?!” Clarke nearly shrieked, too angry to control herself. “We knew, we _knew_ this would happen if Dax got anywhere near him again! How could you let this _happen_?!”  
  
“He wasn't sent to Dax,” Luna told her evenly, her own fury barely hidden in her voice. “A man named Connor Hines hired him. Dax used his friend to get to Monty.”  
  
“You're supposed to protect him!” Clarke yelled, her grip on Luna's shoulders just tightening to the point where she knew her fingernails must be digging into the other woman's skin. Rage made it impossible to forgive her, even if sensibly she knew this hadn't been the woman's fault. All she could see was Monty behind her, bruised and bloody and hurt once again, and her heart beat furiously in her chest, demanding someone pay for this.  
  
Unlike most people, Luna wasn't cowed beneath her fury. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed before she reached up and forcefully broke out of the younger woman's grip. “Remember who you are talking to, Clarke _Blake_ ,” she merely said through gritted teeth. Clarke didn't back down, just took a step closer so that they were almost touching and growled, “No, you remember who _you're_ talking to.” The two women stared each other down, neither looking away until a voice behind Clarke tore her focus back to what was really important.  
  
“Clarke,” Monty got out, having to speak slowly around his split lip, “it's okay, I'll be fine.”  
  
The moment he started speaking she turned away from Luna, all but forgetting about the other woman. Quickly she made her way over to him, stopping at the bed beside him. She forced herself to give him a small smile, fighting against the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Up close he looked even worse than he had from across the room. “I know you will be, Monty,” she told him as soothingly as she could manage. “We're going to take care of you.”  
  
“I'll go get a healer,” Lexa offered from the doorway, and Clarke realized she'd forgotten the queen was even still with her. She shook her head, not taking her eyes off of the boy on the bed. “No Lexa, it's fine, I'm a healer.” She looked up at Maya and Niylah then, reaching out for the bowl Niylah still held. “What do you have?”  
  
“A paste to put on the cuts to help stop the bleeding and keep them clean,” she answered automatically, handing the bowl over. “I'll start on something for the bruises next.” Clarke nodded, looking back down at Monty as her mind raced. “We need more cloths. Something to put over the cuts.” She reached out, running her fingers as carefully as she could along Monty's right arm but even so he winced. She wanted to apologize for adding to his pain but didn't have time, saying, “And a long piece for his arm. A yard, at least.” Derrick nodded behind her, handing the water back to Luna and then left to get what she'd asked for. She looked up only long enough to watch him leave the room, but as he did her eyes were drawn back to Lexa, the queen still standing in the doorway with a hard look on her face.  
  
“Lexa you should probably go,” she told her. “You know where my room is. You should be able to get your things without any problem.” She thought she saw the queen begin to nod but she was already turning back to Monty, her focus entirely on her friend. Once again she lightly ran her fingers over his arm, trying to make sure nothing was broken. It only took a minute to know that the problem was that the arm had been dislocated: in her old life Octavia had dislocated her shoulder twice, once while riding and another while practicing with the sword Clarke had given her, and her mother had taught her how to put it back in place. Carefully she placed the bowl she was still holding on the bed and leaned closer to Monty.  
  
“Monty, I know it's hard, but can you sit up?” she asked, trying to keep her voice quiet and tone soothing. He grimaced but then nodded and used his left arm to push himself up. As he moved she watched him wince, trying to move gingerly, and the monster returned to Clarke's chest in full force, roaring its fury. Dax would pay for this: last time she'd been too busy with thoughts of her own revenge that she had let it slide, let him get away with hurting her friend. Not this time.  
  
Once he was up she let her hands move to his arm but didn't look away from his face, making sure he was looking at her. “This is going to hurt Monty,” she told him, already sorry she had to do it, “but after it'll feel a lot better. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” he replied right away without any hesitation. She nodded and then without any other kind of warning tightened her grip and popped his shoulder back into place. He yelled from the pain and then bit his lip to try to hold it back, only wincing more as his lip began to bleed again. “I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she murmured as he winced, lightly running her fingers through his hair to try to comfort him. After a second he shook his head and forced a smile up at her. “Barely felt it,” he mumbled and she let out a small, humorless laugh. He remained sitting up and she picked up the bowl again, starting to cover his cuts with the paste. Maya wiped the blood away with the cloth she held as best she could and then she got to work on them. As she lightly spread the paste over the cut along his hairline, she forced a smile.  
  
“Now we match,” she tried to joke, gesturing to the scar she'd received the night her father died. He looked up at it and smiled again, otherwise holding still while they worked on him.  
  
Despite what Clarke had said, Lexa didn't leave. She stayed where she was just inside the doorway, watching everything unfolding in front of her. Her hands curled into fists whenever she looked at the boy on the bed, feeling her own anger igniting beneath her skin, but it was nothing compared to what she had seen in Clarke. For the first time she felt as though she'd seen the other woman without any semblance of a mask, and what she had seen both amazed and terrified her if she was being entirely honest with herself. The queen had seen many things in her life, experienced anger and rage both in herself and from other people, but she couldn't remember a time where she had seen a fury quite as intense as Clarke's. Even now as the woman worked on her friend she could see it, what had been sudden and intense now coiled just beneath her skin. It had turned into a quiet fury almost, like a lioness stalking its prey just before making its kill, and she wondered briefly how Luna had been able to stand in the face of its intensity so calmly. She honestly didn't think most people would be able to. Now the younger woman sat beside Monty on the bed, and even across the room Lexa could see how gentle her touch was. She spoke softly to the boy, doing everything to keep him calm and help him feel safe, and this too she felt sure was the real Clarke, a woman no longer playing a part but being herself. The dichotomy between the two sides she'd just seen left her speechless, unable to match words to what she felt, so she just watched on, unable to tear her eyes away.  
  
As those around the bed saw to their friend, the two who'd met them outside stayed by the doorway with her, too focused on what was taking place across the room to even really notice her. She remembered Harper from their brief interaction the first time she'd been to The Rig but didn't recognize the boy. He kept taking a step forward and then back again, as if he couldn't decide whether to get closer to the bed or not while Harper stood still, her arms crossed over herself as though she were trying to hold herself together. Neither looked away from their friends as Clarke and the girl with the cloth continued to see to Monty's wounds and Niylah kept taking herbs and berries out of jars on a tray she must have carried in, making more ointments to try to help. She handed a few herbs over to Luna who added them to the cup of water she'd just poured, and after a few minutes of letting the tea steep she handed the cup to the boy on the bed who slowly began to drink it, wincing as the cup bumped his lip.  
  
“I'll kill him,” the boy by the door muttered darkly as his friends helped Monty. Lexa glanced over at him to see his teeth clenched harshly while he glared across the room. “Next time I see Dax, I'm gonna kill him.”  
  
“He'd kill you first,” Harper replied, keeping her voice down as though speaking too loudly might disrupt those on the other side of the room. “He's a trained soldier and you're just a whore.” The boy shook his head, hands curling into tight fists but he didn't say anything else. Lexa however looked at her, her eyes widening a little. “A soldier did this to him?” The thought that one of her soldiers, no matter his rank, had committed the atrocity she saw before her made her anger settle even more deeply than it already had.  
  
Speaking up apparently brought attention back on her and the boy beside her glanced over, eyeing her suspiciously. “Who are you?” he wanted to know, his tone hard and almost demanding. Clearly he didn't trust strangers, at least not at this moment, but before Lexa could say anything Harper elbowed him sharply in the side. “Hey!” he exclaimed as he winced and turned his glare over to her.  
  
“Knock it off, Jasper,” she just told him, not looking away from the bed. “She's Clarke's friend.”  
  
Apparently being Clarke's friend – two words that managed to fight through the anger simmering in her gut and make her heart flutter for just a moment – was all he needed to know. Jasper gave her another look, his expression a little softer this time, and just nodded. He didn't say anything so Harper did, telling her, “Yeah, a soldier did this and another one helped. Dax has been hurting Monty for a while now and when Luna refused to let him see him anymore he got his friend Connor to help him.”  
  
“Fucking bastards,” Jasper growled quietly, once again glaring. “Somebody should kill them and I'd be more than happy to try.”  
  
“Maybe we'll get lucky and the gods will do it for us,” Harper murmured as she uncrossed her arms. Lexa saw her look over at him, continuing, “Remember almost a year ago when Lania was raped by Olen? He was found three days later dead in his bed.” The memory made Jasper nod, a flash of hope crossing his face, but Lexa frowned.  
  
“What happened?” she asked and Harper glanced over at her as she shrugged. “No one knows. He was just dead. The healers said it looked like his heart suddenly just stopped.” She looked back over to the bed, pausing for just a moment before adding quietly, “I think the gods were angry at him for what he'd done. They punished him when no man would.”  
  
As soon as she'd finished talking Lexa was shaking her head. “Rape is against the law. Wasn't he brought to the city guard?” She couldn't remember hearing of anything like it, but the crimes of the city seldom made it all the way to her unless somebody brought it to her in an audience. Most commoners didn't, choosing to let the City Guard dole out punishments to match the crimes.  
  
Jasper snorted beside her, the sound dark and humorless. “People would have to believe a whore can be raped to bring it to the Guard,” he answered, anger snapping in his voice. “Most don't.”  
  
“Of course they can be raped,” Lexa replied, her surprise leaking into her tone. “Anyone could be.” Harper shook her head, her eyes bright as her lips turned up into something that almost resembled a smile but clearly wasn't, her anger twisting it. “It's nice you believe that but most people don't. We sell our bodies for a living so of course anything a person tries to do to us is okay. We're just... _things_.” Her face twisted into a grimace as she spat out the word. “Holes for men to put their cocks in or bodies for women to slap around when they're frustrated with their own lives.”  
  
The words forced the air from Lexa's lungs, made it impossible for her to catch her breath as liquid fury pooled into her chest. Before she'd met Clarke she'd spent little time thinking about people who sold their bodies for a living, barely ever giving them more than a passing thought other than just knowing they were part of any town or city. Whores were everywhere despite the fact she'd never interacted with any before, but she'd never even considered what Harper was saying. The idea that people thought they could get away with treating others in this way, as though they were only good for getting out frustrations or claiming in whatever violent way they wanted tore something inside her, something she was afraid she may never be able to make whole again. Now these people weren't nameless or faceless, now she knew a few and was seeing first hand what could happen to them, and she'd never been more furious than she was in this moment, both at the men who had done this to the boy on the bed and at herself for never knowing about any of it before. She would make this right somehow and make sure the laws against rape were enforced for everyone, no matter their profession, but she would never forgive herself for taking so long to realize the danger so many of her people lived in. Silently she vowed it as she watched the others caring for Monty, and her hands curled into fists, her fingernails biting deep into the palms of her hands.  
  
The big man with the sword had returned as they talked and now Clarke was carefully wrapping a long piece of linen around Monty's right arm and tying it over his shoulder to immobilize it. Luna gave him another cup of tea almost as soon as he'd finished the first, and Niylah helped Clarke rub another ointment over his many bruises. Lexa didn't move through it all, both forcing herself to watch and not being able to look away, making sure she remembered every detail of this night. This would remind her any time she began to think there was any kind of even breakdown between the classes, remind her of how much work she still had to do to make that in any way true.  
  
Finally they had seen to all of Monty's visible injuries and Clarke was kicking them out of the room to give the boy his privacy for anything else that needed to happen. Luna and The Rig's guard were the first to leave, Harper following right along after her. The girl who had wiped away Monty's blood left next, stopping as she passed Jasper and lightly grabbing his hand. The queen noticed their eyes meet, hers sad and his still angry, but even as she watched she could see Jasper deflate, his anger leaving him and morphing into an aching sadness. The girl squeezed his hand and then led him out of the room and he said nothing as he followed.  
  
Niylah was the last to leave the bed, not saying anything to Monty or Clarke as she walked away but she stopped in front of Lexa before exiting the room. “It's time for you to go,” she said quietly, meeting and not looking away from the queen's eyes. Lexa considered arguing for a moment, not wanting to leave Clarke or Monty, but finally she nodded. Instead of immediately turning around though she stepped past the other girl, moving a few steps further into the room before she stopped again, not really knowing what to say. She looked at Monty now laying with his one somewhat good eye squeezed shut, likely preparing himself for what had to happen next and then looked at Clarke, kneeling beside the bed as she ran her fingers through the boy's hair. Lexa didn't think she even knew the brunette was still there, far too focused on her friend. The queen stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to think of what to say, but just as she was about to open her mouth she closed it again when she heard Clarke begin speaking softly.  
  
“It's okay Monty,” she whispered, and Lexa could hear the tears in her voice but much more strongly beneath it a steely determination. “He'll never touch you again. I swear I won't ever let him anywhere near you again. He's going to pay for this. I'm going to make sure of it.”  
  
Something in the redhead's voice made the queen pause, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. There was anger in it, sure, the same intense fury she'd witnessed when they first entered the room, but beneath that anger was something else she couldn't quite name but that sent a small shiver up her spine. It took her a second to place it, but finally the absolute promise in her words clicked into place, and Lexa found herself studying the other woman. In that moment she wasn't seeing a whore or a woman hiding behind a mask but someone not only angry enough but also smart enough to fulfill the promise she'd just made in whatever way was necessary.  
  
Maybe no man could punish those who hurt The Rig's workers, but the queen had a feeling she was staring at a certain redhead who could.  
  
In the end Lexa didn't say anything to Clarke, just turned around and left the room, the wheels in her mind turning as she changed back into her own clothes and returned to her palace. She had a lot to think about and what she suspected was very little time to put any kind of plan into action.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Clarke stayed by Monty's side throughout the night, refusing to take her eyes off of him. After seeing to all his injuries she gave him another cup of tea, this one infused with the same herbs she used in her lip paint and before long he'd passed out, but she didn't get more than two or three hours of sleep. Instead she spent the night planning, working out the best way to make sure Dax never touched Monty again.  
  
It wouldn't be the first time she'd protected her friends by getting rid of someone who had hurt them, but the sudden deaths of a pair of soldiers was likely to get more attention than that of an angry drunk. She wouldn't let that stop her though, it only meant she would have to be even more careful than she'd been with Olen.  
  
The gray light of dawn began to filter through the small window in Luna's bedroom, the thin curtain she had up blowing gently in the small breeze. Clarke watched it move, momentarily letting it clear her mind until she heard Monty begin to stir on the bed. The second she heard the movement her eyes were on him again and she was scanning his face even before he opened his good eye. Niylah's bruise balm had helped to reduce the swelling of the other one but only barely, still too swollen to see out of. Monty grimaced as he woke up, the pain from his many injuries likely flaring up now that he was once again conscious but when he saw her he forced a little grin.  
  
“How bad do I look?” he asked, trying to make a joke and Clarke forced herself to return the grin as best she could. “You could never look bad,” she replied, doing her best to keep her tone light. “You're just as handsome as always.” He let out a laugh and then winced again, his left hand shifting to lightly touch at his face and trace over the bruises and cuts. When a finger brushed over the cut at his hairline Clarke continued, “Guys'll think you're even more handsome with a scar or two. I bet one of them will come in here someday soon, fall in love with you on sight and then take you away. You two will live happily ever after.”  
  
He looked over at her as she spoke, a bemused smile tugging at his mouth. “I like that,” he said, but from his tone Clarke could tell he didn't believe it. Her heart broke a little because she didn't believe it either. She'd stopped believing in fairy tale endings years ago, and even if they did exist they didn't happen for someone like Monty. No matter how much he deserved it, they both knew he would likely spend the rest of his life at The Rig; Clarke just hoped it would be a long life, and that he would never have to go through something like this again.  
  
After a few minutes she helped him get up, Monty wanting to give Luna her room back and go to his own. She didn't like the idea of him moving but she understood and so helped him, letting him put his good arm over her shoulders and lean against her. As they walked Clarke could practically feel how tired he was even after a night of heavy sleep and so did her best to support even more of his weight, glad they didn't have very far to go.  
  
Reaching the door to his room, she was unsurprised to find Jasper and Maya there, the two sitting on the floor with their backs up against the door, sleeping. Her head was resting on his shoulder and his head rested on hers, and Clarke might have smiled under different circumstances: their relationship had to be the worst kept secret in the whorehouse. Instead of smile she lightly tapped Jasper's leg with one foot to wake him, having to nudge him a few more times to finally get him up. He yawned even before he'd opened his eyes and when they did open he frowned as he glanced over at the girl leaning against him, clearly confused. The next moment he looked up at Clarke and Monty and everything must have rushed back to him all at once because he was jumping up, unceremoniously waking Maya as she almost fell beside him.  
  
“Monty!” he exclaimed as he rose, quickly scanning over his friend. “How're you doing? Can I get you anything? What can I do?” His best friend was grinning again, lightly shaking his head before he'd even finished talking. “I'm fine Jasper, I don't need anything.”  
  
“That's not exactly true, but I'll give it to you for the moment,” Clarke muttered, watching as Maya slowly got up, rubbing her neck and grimacing. They must have been outside Monty's room all night, and if so Clarke knew her neck would be incredibly stiff from being in at an odd angle for so long. She didn't say anything about it though, just grabbed Jasper's arm and pulled him out from in front of the door. “They're trying to get inside, Jasper.”  
  
“Oh yeah, right,” he mumbled, stepping aside. Clarke led Monty forward, opening the door, and all four of them filtered into the room, Maya and Jasper bringing up the rear as Clarke helped Monty get into his own bed. The two crowded around the bed, both unabashedly looking the injured boy over and when he noticed Monty shook his head again. “Really guys, I'm fine.”  
  
“No you're not Monty,” Maya told him, her voice wavering a little on his name but not breaking. Clarke glanced up through her eyelashes and noticed dampness building in the other girl's eyes. “What he did to you...” She trailed off, unable to finish.  
  
Beside her, Jasper's hands clenched into fists.  
  
“He can't get away with this,” he growled, obviously just as angry as he had been the night before. “We can't let him get away with this!”  
  
“No Jasper, just let it go,” Monty pleaded, his good eye widening just a little. “Dax is...” He paused for a second to swallow, and Clarke wished she couldn't see the fear tugging at his mouth. The boulder that had grown overnight in her gut shifted and it was all she could do not to straight out glare at the thought of the person who had put that fear there. “He would hurt you, if you tried to do anything. I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me.”  
  
“He already hurt _you_ , Monty!” Jasper exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look at you! And it's not even like this is the first time! Someone has to stop it!”  
  
_Not you_ , Clarke thought, carefully looking down at the sheet on Monty's bed and beginning to lightly tuck it against him just for something to do to keep her busy and out of the conversation. _Monty's right, Dax would kill you_. She would make the soldier pay for what he'd done like Jasper wanted but she would do it in a way that drew no attention to her. Jasper never did anything quietly, and while most of the time that was fine, this kind of thing needed a far more delicate and calculated hand. Clarke glanced up at him as Jasper and Monty continued to argue and decided she had better put her plan into action soon: Jasper looked angry enough that this might be more than just talk, angry enough that if he got enough ale in him he might just decide to go after Dax after all. She wouldn't let that happen.  
  
After a few minutes she left the room, leaving Maya in charge while she went to get Monty some more tea. Entering the kitchen, she was only a little surprised to find Niylah sitting at the large wooden table in the center of the room, the couple of cooks working around her as they bustled to get breakfast ready for a house full of dozens of people. Clarke hesitated for a moment but then moved towards her, the other woman looking up as she approached and giving her a tired smile. Even before Clarke had sat down she was reaching for the tea pot in front of her and grabbing at one of the many empty mugs laid out around it.  
  
“Here,” Niylah said as she poured the tea into the empty mug, “I bet you got even less sleep than I did.” She pushed the cup over in front of the stool next to her and Clarke nearly fell into it, suddenly feeling exhausted. The blonde gave her a knowing look and then tapped the side of the mug with her pointer finger. “I added something extra to this pot to help us stay awake.”  
  
Clarke flashed her a thankful smile and grabbed the cup, wrapping both hands around it before bringing it up to her lips. She could smell the usual herbs used to prevent pregnancies as well as something else, and she took a big whiff of it, sighing as she identified it. “Rosemary; good choice.”  
  
“You always know,” Niylah said with a smile, watching Clarke as she took a sip of the tea. The hot liquid rolled down her throat and into her stomach, immediately warming her and making her feel just a touch better than she had a moment ago. “And you always pick just the right herbs to add.” The other woman's lips tugged up just a hair more before she turned her attention back to her own cup, but Clarke could still feel her watching out of the corner of her eye. She closed her eyes after taking another sip, remembering how she had very pointedly been avoiding spending any time with Niylah and why that was. Guilt, the same wave she'd felt the night before in the hallway with Lexa watching on, washed through her, and she shook her head.  
  
“Niylah I'm...” She couldn't quite say it so opened her eyes, glancing over to find the blonde once again looking at her. Clarke had to swallow at the look, reading what she hadn't wanted to see in her friend's expression. “...sorry.” The word was spoken quietly, hanging between them. They both knew it was about more than just her avoidance, even about more than how she kept using the other woman to try to quiet the emotions that so often raged within her. Niylah looked at her with eyes that held so much more than just understanding in them and Clarke wished she could jump into her tea and just disappear.  
  
The apology didn't hang between them for long. After only a few seconds the blonde reached out, fingers moving to the ends of Clarke's hair. “I have everything I need for your dye,” she informed her, keeping her voice light. “We could darken your hair again today, if you want.”  
  
With that Clarke's apology was brushed to the side as though it were unnecessary, and the dark-haired woman had to swallow again as her throat burned slightly. A part of her wished she could give Niylah what she wanted, could return her feelings, but a larger part of her knew it was dangerous. Love was something she couldn't afford to waste her time on, not now that she was so close to getting her revenge, and once she got it she had every intention of disappearing. She was already playing with the other woman's feelings enough as it was, something she never intended to do but somehow had fallen into, and she knew that was bad enough.  
  
“Sure,” she replied with a nod, glad to hear her voice remain steady, “I'm meeting a friend later this morning but after that I should be able to.”  
  
Niylah fiddled with her cup, looking down into the liquid as she returned the nod. Clarke thought she wasn't going to say anything and was about to return her attention to her own tea when she heard the blonde ask lightly, “Is Lexa the friend you're meeting?”  
  
The question completely threw the younger woman off, her eyes widening as she looked back over at her friend. To her discomfort the queen's name made her heart skip a beat, but she told herself it was only from surprise. Niylah's tone had been a little too light, just a tad too invested in the answer while trying to appear uninterested and Clarke's eyes scanned her face, trying to read her thoughts. As always it was easy, and she frowned as she recognized the jealousy pulling the corners of the other woman's lips down just a fraction.  
  
“No, I'm not meeting Lexa,” she answered automatically, wondering where that had come from. She continued to study her friend's face as Niylah took another sip of tea before saying anything else. “Oh. She seems nice. It was nice of her to offer to get a healer for Monty.” She took another sip of her tea. “She's pretty too.”  
  
“She's...” Clarke began, not really knowing what to say. In all honesty she'd forgotten that Lexa had even still been there while she'd been helping Monty, too focused in the moment to notice anything but the many cuts and bruises on the boy in front of her. Now she remembered and bit the inside of her cheek, thoughts flickering back to the queen and what she must have thought about everything she saw the night before. Beside her Niylah continued to stare into her cup and for the moment Clarke forced those thoughts back, making herself focus on one thing at a time.  
  
“She is,” she agreed lightly, giving a nod. “Nice, that is. Pretty too, I suppose.” That was a bold face lie and they both knew it; calling Lexa pretty was like calling a stallion a pony, but Clarke chose to keep that to herself to save her friend's feelings. “She's a good friend to have.”  
  
“It's always good to have friends,” Niylah said, turning back towards her and once again the blonde's lips curled up into a small smile. “Lexa is lucky she can call you one.”  
  
Clarke shook her head, her mouth slowly curling up to match the other woman's smile. “I don't know about that.” She paused for a second, fiddling with her mug, and then continued quietly, “I do know I'm lucky to have my friends though. All of them.” She met Niylah's eyes as she finished, hoping she could convey what she couldn't say, could show the blonde how much she meant to her even if it couldn't be in the way the older woman wanted. Niylah's smile grew just a little and she nodded, seeming to get the silent message.  
  
The two sat together for another few minutes, no longer talking and just listening to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen staff around them. Clarke let herself fall into the energy of the room, closing her eyes and trying to soak it in before she returned to Monty's room. Even just thinking about her hurt friend made her grip tighten on her tea and she stared at it while the thoughts she'd been thinking through all night returned to play in her mind.  
  
“If I asked you to get something not exactly legal for me, how quickly could you get it?” she asked Niylah suddenly, keeping her voice low. Her eyes lifted from her drink and darted around the kitchen, tracking where everyone was so she would know none of them would be able to overhear this part of their conversation. She doubted any of them cared enough to want to, but she couldn't be too careful.  
  
Niylah grabbed a slice of warm bread from the loaf one of the cooks had just put on the table, tearing it in half. “Depends,” she answered just as quietly even as she kept her voice light. “What is it you need?”  
  
“Do you remember Olen?” Clarke just asked, and the woman's eyebrows rose for a moment before she tore off a small chunk of the bread and popped it into her mouth. She chewed it slowly as she stared in front of her, and Clarke made sure not to take her eyes off of the others in the room. “I know someone,” Niylah replied once she'd swallowed, “I should be able to get that for you within a day or two. I'm sure you remember its price.”  
  
“Doesn't matter,” she told her, briefly glancing over to her friend, “I can cover it if you can get it.” Niylah just nodded as she stood up. She drained the last dregs of her tea and then took another bite of her bread. Turning around, she leaned a little closer to Clarke, telling her softly, “We can talk about it more while we dye your hair.” With that she left, not saying another word and just nodding to one of the cooks as she passed her.  
  
Clarke only stayed in the kitchen for another few minutes, brewing a fresh pot of tea specifically for Monty and begging one of the cooks to make a broth for him for later. She finally agreed and the redhead gave her a large smile before swiping a couple of slices of bread, grabbing the tea and a clean mug and leaving the room.  
  
Once back in Monty's room she got a cup and a half of tea in him with little fight, also giving him the bread. He didn't complain but she could see it hurt to open his mouth wide enough for the bread and so wasn't surprised when he stopped after one slice. Jasper and Maya were still there when she got back and though Maya had to leave after a little while the boy stayed there, clearly having no intention of leaving his best friend alone. Clarke would have liked for Monty to get more sleep but seeing the way his best friend managed to keep him smiling she didn't have the heart to say anything. For a while she debated staying too and finding Charlotte to take a message to Wells, but she knew she'd done all she could for her friend for the time-being and hovering over him wouldn't do either of them any good. Finally she dragged herself out of the room, reminding both boys that Monty needed to get more sleep, and made her way up to her room. There she changed from the dress she was still wearing into a pair of breeches – one of the few she owned – and a loose shirt. As soon as she was dressed she strapped her knife to her belt and left, making her way down the stairs and out of The Rig and then through the city.  
  
The Trikru Forest surrounded the city and palace, a few worn roads torn into the dirt after years and years of heavy travel. She didn't follow any of them as she slipped into the trees, taking an unmarked path that had become very familiar to her after a few years of using it. As she went she let her gaze wander, watching squirrels and chipmunks race up and down trees and fight over acorns, freezing only as she walked by and staring at her. Birds lighted on branches and in bushes, their musical chirps filling the air and being carried to her on the light breeze. After walking for a little over half a mile she began to hear the sound of running water, and only a of couple minutes later she broke through a few bushes, seeing the Polarian River flowing gently down its banks, Wells sitting on a rock beside it while he waited for her. A sword lay in the grass by his feet, the sun glinting off the metal, while he held a second one, using a whetstone to sharpen it.  
  
He looked up at the sound of branches snapping beneath her feet and smiled, standing up. Clarke rolled her eyes as he bowed, his right fist placed over his heart as always whenever he greeted her alone. “My lady.” She wasn't in the mood to get into the usual argument with him so she just nodded as she pulled her left arm across her front and hooked her right arm over it, beginning a few simple stretches. “Wells.” He raised the sword he still held and then gestured to the knife at his belt. “Would you rather work with swords or knives today?”  
  
“Swords,” she answered immediately, widening her stance and leaning to the side to stretch out her hamstrings. Luna and Derrick made sure that every one of their workers knew how to protect themselves with a knife – _Not that that's always enough_ , she thought darkly, images of Monty flashing through her mind – so she had partners to train with for the smaller weapon often enough, but Wells was the only one who could help her keep her sword skills sharp. He had been expecting it and was already leaning down to lift the sword in the grass before she'd even answered. Carefully he handed the one he'd been sharpening to her and then took a few steps back to settle into his stance while Clarke tested the weight and balance of the blade he'd handed to her. It was heavy but not overly so, something she would be able to handle well enough and she gave it a few test swings before stepping back into her own stance. They looked at each other for a moment, letting the sounds of the forest surround them and sinking into its calm before Clarke leapt forward, brandishing the weapon. Wells's came up to block the strike, and they fell into battle.  
  
As a child Clarke had stopped using swords, the weapon always tiring her out more than daggers and bows, but after the fire she'd started learning again and Wells had been her teacher. While they traveled that first year trying to track down Jenson and Bennet they had trained almost daily. For months Clarke had gone to bed exhausted, her legs tired from walking and her arms sore from swinging her sword, but eventually her body had grown accustomed to the new abuse it hadn't known before. The amount of training had seriously dwindled since Luna found them and Clarke became her whore, only having the chance to the few times a year Wells would return to Polis to let her know what he had found, but a few times a month she would sneak away into the woods alone to practice her stances and swings, making sure to keep all of the movements fresh in her mind and body. She would never be a great swordsman like Wells or her father had been but she knew enough to defend herself and – hopefully – to get her revenge when she found it.  
  
Wells swept her weapon to the side after her strike, immediately falling into his own attack. Clarke stepped quickly to the side to avoid the sharp edge of his weapon, blood now pumping hotly through her veins. All of the rage and hate she'd been feeling for so long crammed itself into a ball in her chest and she used it to fuel her as she moved. When she swung it wasn't Wells she was attacking but Dax and Connor and Emerson, and a faceless lord she couldn't yet name. She wanted to kill them all, to make each one of them pay for the pain they'd caused, and used her body and sword to try to make it happen. Two blades came crashing together again and again as the sound of metal screeching against metal drowned out the calm of the forest.  
  
Sweat had pooled in the dip of her collarbones by the time Wells stepped back, holding up his hand and ending the bout. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving as her lungs fought to take in some much needed oxygen and her arms ached, screaming at her each time she moved them. Clarke ignored the dull pain, even reveled in it a little as she used one to wipe away the sweat dripping down her forehead. Wells was breathing heavily as well, though it was clear the fight hadn't taken as much out of him as it had her, and stepped back over to the rock he'd been sitting on when she showed up, grabbing a waterskin from behind it. He held it out to her and she accepted, drinking greedily from it and sighing as the cool water eased her parched throat. Once she'd had her fill she gave it back to him and then sat in the grass, dropping her sword beside her and running her fingers through the green fibers. Soon she ended up on her back, staring up at the sky and watching small white clouds drift by. Wells sat down beside her, corking the waterskin, and for a while they just sat and laid there in silence.  
  
“Do you remember when we used to do this as kids?” she asked suddenly, not looking away from the sky. Today it was a white-blue instead of the usual pure robin's egg blue, and she wondered if it would rain later.  
  
Wells glanced up, eyes trailing over the clouds above them. “I remember. Octavia and Raven would argue over what shapes the clouds made and Bellamy would have to break it up before they started yelling.” The memory made Clarke's lips tug up, her heart aching now more than her arms. “Sometimes Madi would come with us and you would braid her a flower crown. It never stayed together for very long but she would wear it until it entirely fell apart.”  
  
Thinking about her sister made Clarke's throat burn and she had to close her eyes to hold back the sudden heat of tears. Even now she could easily picture Madi's little smile as she proudly wore the flower crowns, the pink and blue and yellow petals sticking out against her dark blonde locks. She wondered if her hair was still so dark or if it had lightened at all over the years. She hoped not: everything about her sister had been perfect, from her dark hair to her dark blue eyes and tiny smile, and she hoped nothing about her had changed as she grew older. Clarke knew it wasn't likely, knew that her and her father's deaths must have taken a toll on her sister and mother but always tried to pretend they were as happy as she wanted them to be. Her eyes opened again and she stared up at the sky, wishing she could see them again but knowing it could never happen. Clarke Griffin was dead and now only Clarke Blake the Whore lived, and her family never needed to know everything she had done to survive.  
  
“They'll be here soon,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the clouds, “a couple weeks at most, probably. I won't be able to go back to the palace once they're here. We have to find Emerson and whoever he works for before then.”  
  
Wells nodded beside her, looking away from the sky and reaching over to pick up his sword once again. He turned it over in his fingers, clearly just needing something to do with his hands. “I know where a few of the servants to some of the different houses get together a few times a week to play cards,” he told her. “I've started going to see what I can learn from them. The people change with every game, so hopefully I'll find him or at least someone who knows him.”  
  
Clarke nodded. That was good; servants gossiped more than anybody, always glad to share their masters' dirt if given the right kind of push. Around a card table with the ale flowing freely Wells should learn a lot and quickly, they just had to hope it would lead them to what they needed to know.  
  
“I'll keep my eyes open at the queen's parties,” she replied, tearing her focus from the sky and pushing herself up so she was once again sitting. “Maybe I'll even start asking around about Emerson.”  
  
Wells looked over at her, his brow creasing. “Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself, my lady,” he warned and Clarke raised an eyebrow, letting out a small scoff. “Wells I'm a whore, I'm supposed to draw attention to myself.” She saw his nostrils flare and his frown deepen, but instead of saying what she knew he was thinking he just said, “Don't draw the wrong _kind_ of attention to yourself. People might get suspicious if you start asking about a man you don't know, especially where he isn't even a noble.”  
  
“I know Wells,” she told him with a sigh, drawing her knees up to her chest, “I'll be careful.” She didn't want to be careful; she _wanted_ to take her sword to the next party and demand to know who Emerson was, demand to know who had killed her father. She wanted for this to all be over so she could finally rest, but knew she still had a lot of work left to do before then, and now she had someone else's revenge she had to get before she could go after her own. Thinking about Monty again she held in another sigh, this one filled with regret and pain, and began to stand up. Enough time had gone by that she knew she should be getting back to The Rig to check on the boy, hoping that he'd managed to get more sleep and Jasper hadn't kept him up all this time. Wells rose with her, studying her carefully, and she forced herself to flash him a smile. He couldn't know about Monty and what had happened because he would immediately know what she was planning to do and try to stop her, always more concerned for her safety than anything else. She appreciated it, she really did and she loved him for it, but she wouldn't let him get in the way of what she needed to do.  
  
“When should we meet again?” he asked after a moment, apparently appeased enough by her promise to let go of his worry, at least for the time being. Clarke rolled her shoulders, her muscles still sore from their sword work and thought about it. “The next party is in three days, so how about the following night?” While he nodded she bent down to get the sword she'd left on the ground and then handed it to him, and his fingers wrapped around her own on the pommel. “I'll see you then, my lady. Good luck.”  
  
“You too Wells,” she replied, meeting his eyes, and then she let go, leaving the sword with him and turning to disappear back into the woods.  
  
The walk back to the city went by too quickly, and as she went Clarke had to fight the urge to just disappear into the trees. Maybe life would be easier if she gave up on her ideas of revenge, for herself and for Monty. Killing one or two soldiers wouldn't stop other people from beating or raping those less powerful than them, and taking down one bad noble wouldn't keep others from coming up with their own treacherous schemes. She could disappear and never be seen again, Clarke Blake dying just as easily as Clarke Griffin had and then she could live as no one. Being no one sounded like a blessing right then, the idea of having no responsibilities and no one else to care for, but she knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave now when she was so close to getting what she'd spent seven years working for, couldn't go when Monty wasn't safe. She couldn't leave her friends at The Rig or Wells or even the queen wondering what had happened to her, so her feet kept moving forward, taking her steadily back to the life she'd made for herself. As the trees thinned and disappeared and the noise of the city beat back the quiet calm of the woods she sighed heavily and then mentally donned her mask once again.  
  
The second she stepped through the front door to The Rig she knew something else had happened. People were crowding around the small waiting room, but not the usual guests she would expect to see. Workers crowded around, an excited buzz filling the air, and Clarke scanned the group, immediately suspicious and more than a little hesitant; she honestly wasn't sure how much more she could take at this point. Luna stood in the center of the group with a heaving Charlotte, the young girl doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. Someone shoved a waterskin in the girl's face and she took it, water streaming down the corners of her mouth as she guzzled thirstily. Harper and Niylah stood on the other side of the girl, one of Niylah's hands resting on her shoulder, while Maya, Jasper and – Clarke was displeased to see – Monty standing in front of her. The redhead's hands went to her hips, glaring at the group and ignoring the other people surrounding them.  
  
“Monty, what are you doing down here?” she demanded, her glare not leaving when they all turned to look at her, obviously just realizing she was there. “You're supposed to be _resting_.”  
  
“Clarke, it's good news!” Jasper said excitedly, completely ignoring her reproach to his friend. “Hell, it's fucking amazing news!” She ticked an eyebrow at him and glanced around the group, seeing grins and beaming smiles everywhere. “What?”  
  
“Dax and Connor,” Maya told her as she gestured to Charlotte, “they're gone. Charlotte was picking up messages this morning and heard the news. They've been sent south, to track down the remaining Reapers.”  
  
Clarke's eyes widened, her mind going blank as she tried to process the information. Everyone else continued to look ecstatic, clearly thinking nothing better could have possibly happened. Harper looked over to Jasper, beaming as she said, “See? I told you the gods would make them pay for what they did!” Clarke just shook her head, still trying to take it in, and let her eyes shift over to Monty. The boy looked nothing but relieved, as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders and he could stand tall again without fear. He met the redhead's eyes, smiling as widely as his split lip would allow. “They're gone, Clarke. Almost _nobody_ comes back from the south. Dax is gone!” Everyone around him all started talking at once it seemed, each sharing their own joy at the news, but Clarke tuned them all out.  
  
It hadn't been the gods who had done this. She knew that as sure as she knew her real identity. The gods didn't take the time to mess in the lives of mortals, likely didn't care enough to. No, she knew exactly who had done this, who had meddled with her plans, and although all her friends grinned and smiled she felt a cold anger building up in her chest.  
  
Suddenly three days was far too long to wait. She wanted to speak with the queen now, but knew that unlike Lexa she would never be able to sneak into the palace. When she finally did see the other woman again though, she doubted the queen would like her reaction. 

***

Titus and Lord Nyko were talking beside her, and though Titus was clearly invested in the conversation Lexa could only pretend to be. Two years ago a rock slide had destroyed part of one of the Blue Cliff villages and the repairs were still taking place, and while normally that was a conversation the queen would give her full attention to tonight she just couldn't. She pretended to, nodding along whenever either of the men would look at her and automatically replying when something was addressed to her, but in reality she was only half listening. Most of her attention was on the group standing not very far away, the number of people flocking around Clarke having grown to the point where she might have even lost sight of the burgundy hair if she managed to take her eyes off of her for more than a minute or two. She hadn't though, had been watching her almost exclusively for the past half hour after conveniently placing herself so she would be able to see her over Lord Nyko's shoulder. Titus suspected where her focus was, she could see it in his eyes and the way his posture shifted, but at the moment she couldn't find it in herself to care. He could lecture her later on propriety and the respect she owed her nobles.  
  
The night's party was in full swing, dozens of people standing around talking and eating while more danced and Lexa had spoken to just about everyone at least briefly except for the one person she'd been thinking about for days. She had been unable to get the redhead off her mind since she heard Clarke whispering those words to Monty and the unspoken promise the queen was sure had been laced between them. Lexa had stepped in and fulfilled that promise for her, talking to General Semet first thing the morning after Monty had been attacked and having the two who had hurt him transferred south, and while she had hoped that would be a relief to the dark-haired woman, it didn't seem to be the case. So far this evening Clarke had very pointedly not looked her way, throwing herself into conversation with the people around her, and all Lexa had been able to do up to this point was steal glances at her. She'd been hoping an opportunity would naturally present itself to her and lead her over to the other woman, but she was beginning to think if she was going to speak with Clarke she would just have to go over and do it; the night was coming to an end, and she had a feeling Clarke's escort for the night, a minor lord from the Shallow Valley, would want to be leaving soon so as to begin the next portion of his night with the redhead. The thought nearly made her frown, catching herself just in time from letting her brow crease, and the next thing she knew she was excusing herself to Nyko and Titus, barely even waiting for them to say anything. Titus's eyes bore a hole into the back of her head as she walked away but she barely felt it.  
  
Those around Clarke immediately fell into bows and curtsies the moment they realized she was approaching them, but Lexa could have sworn the redhead waited until the last second that was socially acceptable to do so herself. She didn't look at the queen as she dipped into her always perfect curtsy, pointedly looking instead at the air beside her, but Lexa couldn't look at anything else. Clarke was wearing the same dress she'd had on the night they met, the rusty red as exquisite as the queen remembered it. Tonight her hair had been piled up at the back of her head and the loose strands had been curled, bouncing lightly from her movements. Her blue pendant dangled against her chest, very nearly dipping between the swell of her bosom and as always Lexa had to force herself not to stare. The memory of the bare skin of her back flashed suddenly through her mind and for a second her mouth went dry as she tried to push the thought away.  
  
“Your Majesty,” she heard in a chorus, everyone in the group greeting her respectfully but Clarke. For her part the younger woman remained quiet, still refusing to meet her eye even once she rose out of the curtsy. She wasn't glaring but it was likely as close to it as she could come in a room full of people. Lexa tried not to frown but wasn't sure she was entirely successful.  
  
“Clarke, could I speak with you for a moment?” she asked, ignoring the looks the people around the redhead were giving each other. She didn't even pretend to be interested in any of them, too focused on the other woman.  
  
“If that's what Your Majesty wants,” Clarke replied evenly, looking over Lexa's shoulder. The brunette saw some of the young nobles around them widen their eyes, probably trying to decide if the answer was truly acceptable but Lexa said nothing, just turned to the side a bit and then gestured for Clarke to follow her. As she began walking away she was relieved at least to hear soft footsteps behind her.  
  
She led them to the side of the room where there was some open space, only a Guard standing by the wall. “Excuse us,” she told him, giving him a look that didn't allow for argument and he bowed before quickly stepping away. As soon as she turned around she eyed the room, noticing plenty of pairs of eyes stealing looks their way but nobody approaching. She would have preferred to have this conversation away from everyone else entirely but knew leaving the room with Clarke would only start gossip she couldn't have so settled for what she could get.  
  
“You're angry with me,” Lexa stated calmly and quietly, letting her eyes fall back on Clarke. The redhead still wasn't looking at her but over her shoulder and for some reason that irked her. She was used to people being too intimidated to make eye contact with her but not people actively avoiding looking at her out of anger and found she didn't like it at all.  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Clarke replied just as quietly, trying to keep her tone even but beneath the words Lexa could hear the resentment weaving into her voice.  
  
“I had to do something, Clarke,” she murmured, glancing briefly over the other woman's shoulder to make sure there was still no one around them, being careful in the look so as not to draw even more attention to them. “I couldn't just let them get away with hurting your friend.”  
  
She'd wanted to bring them both up on rape charges but knew she wouldn't be able to do that since nothing had been reported. If she'd tried people would want to know how she knew about it and that would lead to questions she couldn't answer. Instead she'd done the next best thing and sent them to a battle she knew they wouldn't come back from.  
  
Openly talking about what had happened managed to make Clarke finally look at her, a storm brewing in hard blue eyes that Lexa had a hard time looking away from.  
  
“You had no right,” she hissed between clenched teeth, her voice still quiet. The queen didn't let her expression shift, knowing that anyone who looked over could see it, but inside she marveled at the other woman's anger. She'd made sure to strategically place them so that Clarke wouldn't have to worry so much about controlling her expression and at the moment she was glad she had. The redhead took a step closer, fury flashing across her face. “I was going to take care of it!”  
  
“I'm aware,” Lexa replied, clenching her hands behind her back and standing a little taller. She knew it was a noble's stance but at the moment she needed it to stand in the face of the redhead's anger as Clarke's eyebrows lifted. “I heard what you told Monty, and Harper told me about Olen. I put two and two together.”  
  
“You had no right to get involved,” Clarke growled. “They're _my_ people, it's _my_ duty to protect them!”  
  
Now it was Lexa's turn to raise her eyebrows, wondering if Clarke knew how much she sounded like a noble just then. Clearly she's been spending enough time with them lately to have some of their mannerisms rub off on her. “You are all _my_ people,” she reminded her, “that makes it my responsibility to protect you. What I did not only protected Monty but it protected you as well.”  
  
“What if he comes back?” the redhead demanded. “What if the Reapers don't kill him and Dax comes back? I was going to make sure Monty _remained_ safe.”  
  
“He won't come back,” she answered easily, giving a small shrug. What remained of the Reapers were small in number but far too clever for Lexa's liking, using booby traps and dangerous terrain they knew well to pick off the soldiers left to find them. Usually the queen hated having to send anyone south knowing only about half of them ever came home, but in this case she hadn't had any problem with it.  
  
Clarke however didn't seem as sure as she was.  
  
“You don't know that,” she muttered darkly, now not looking away from the brunette. “You can't know they won't come back and if they do Monty is just going to be in danger again. I could have stopped it.”  
  
“If either of them come back then I will find somewhere else to send them,” Lexa replied. “I will send them to do a soldier's work until they _don't_ come back.”  
  
“Do you really think you'll know if they come back?” Clarke demanded, giving her a look. “There are thousands of soldiers in your army, do you really think you'll be able to keep tabs on these two? What happens when one of the noble houses need you to visit their fief? Are you going to leave someone in Polis with orders to be watching for Dax and Connor? You're the _queen_ , do you honestly think that the beating and rape of one whore is going to be important enough to always be at the top of your list?”  
  
Hurt flashed across Lexa's face before she could stop it, her mask slipping for just a second. She lifted her chin a little higher, meeting Clarke's eyes as she replied quietly, “The safety of my people is always the most important thing. I thought you knew that.” For a brief moment she saw guilt clouding the younger woman's eyes but just like that it was gone again and her jaw was clenched. “They deserve to die.”  
  
“What you want is revenge for you friend Clarke, not justice,” she stated, her voice and expression once again carefully even. A renewed fire whipped wildly at the back of Clarke's eyes and it both fascinated and terrified her just a little, not sure what she'd said to cause it. She was suddenly reminded of the uncontrolled fury the redhead had let out the moment she saw her friend lying bruised and bloody in the bed, and for the first time she wondered if Clarke was actually a storm goddess wrapped in skin.  
  
“Sometimes justice doesn't exist,” the younger woman spat, her tone harsh and unyielding. “Sometimes revenge is all there is.” Lexa scanned her face, unhappy to see how much she clearly truly believed that.  
  
“Justice always exists, Clarke,” she replied, shaking her head, “Sometimes it just doesn't feel like enough.” To her surprise the redhead let out a scoff, the sound heavy and dry as she gave the queen a look. “Says the woman who started a war with the people who killed her father. Tell me Your Majesty, was that justice or was it revenge?”  
  
Lexa suddenly felt as though she had been slapped, her jaw dropping just a bit. Clarke's eyes scanned her face and she suddenly felt stripped bare, open and vulnerable in a way she'd never been before. For a moment she thought she saw blue eyes soften but then the dark-haired woman was shaking her head, eyes closing. “Don't lecture me on justice, Your Majesty. Justice is just for the people who can afford it. The rest of us have to make do with whatever we can get for ourselves. It's just one more way our worlds are different.” The older woman didn't know what to say to that, couldn't think of anything to say, and silence stretched out between them before Clarke fell back into a stiff curtsy. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm here with someone and should really be with them. Thank you for this... talk, Your Majesty.” She turned away then and made her way back to the crowd waiting for her, and as Lexa watched her walk away she wondered just how many more times she would leave the queen standing somewhere speechless. This was becoming far too common an occurrence and she didn't like it.  
  
Finally Lexa tore her gaze off of Clarke, trying not to frown as she pushed the younger woman's words away to go over later. She looked out over the room, searching for the next conversation she could step into that would undoubtedly be far less eye-opening than every one with Clarke seemed to be, and instead found Titus across the room, his eyes narrowed nearly into slits as he stared at the redhead once again smiling and laughing as she flawlessly fell back into her crowd. The queen let out a sigh, no one close enough to hear it luckily, and began making her way towards him. She had no doubt she would be getting a long, long lecture from him later about the proper company of a queen and figured she might as well start trying to appease him now.  
  
It wouldn't prevent the lecture but it might at least shorten it, and at this point Lexa would take anything she could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any questions or wants to talk about this story (or any of my others), feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda!


	12. Chapter Twelve

A headache pounded at Lexa's temples, sharp and steady and unyielding, and it took every bit of control she could muster to keep from rubbing at them. She sat with her back ramrod straight and her shoulders perfectly set but all she wanted was to sink back in her chair. The lecture she would get from her aunt kept her from doing so, but it was a battle she had to fight every second to keep from losing.  
  
She sat at one end of the long dining table, her aunt down at the other end while her brother sat to her right and Roan sat across from him on her left. Anya stood by the wall behind her, her living shadow, while Nia's personal guard stood back behind her. When she bothered to look over her aunt's shoulder she could see Ontari watching the entire table, as present as she knew Anya must be, but she seldom bothered to look. They were on the third course of a five course meal and as much as she normally enjoyed venison, tonight the meat felt far too rich on her pallet, the sauce covering the meat making her stomach roll a little with every bite. It would be impolite not to eat it though, to her guests as well as to her cook, so she speared another small chunk of the venison with her fork and then chewed it slowly.  
  
“Alexandria, when are you going to invite your guests to something outside of the palace?” her aunt asked suddenly, looking down the table at her even as her head was tipped towards her plate. “Your parties are nice but many of them are likely getting tired of staring at the walls. I know I for one am. They want to be able to speak with you without music drowning them out.”  
  
“I meet with members of different houses every day,” she reminded the duchess, making sure to speak calmly and to not give away any hints towards how she was feeling. “The parties are just an opportunity for everyone to come together and talk, but if you have another suggestion I am happy to hear it.”  
  
“How about a hunt?” Roan suggested, turning his head to look at her. “The Trikru forest is beautiful, and it's my understanding there has been plenty of game so far this season. I'm sure many of the lords and some of the ladies as well would enjoy it.” Lexa nodded as she continued to focus on her plate, actually liking the idea. Getting out of the palace sounded like a relief at the moment, though she'd rather not be surrounded by a few dozen nobles when she did. It was a good suggestion though, and one she would seriously consider.  
  
“A hunt would work,” Nia agreed, nodding to her son, and then she looked back at the queen, “but I was thinking perhaps a tournament. There are so many knights and squires here at the moment I'm sure it would draw a crowd.”  
  
“The younger nobility would love it,” Aden added, sitting nearly as straight as his sister. He looked from one end of the table to the other, adding, “I see a lot of them out in the training yards every day working on everything from swords to bows and I know all of them would love to show off what they can do in front of a crowd.”  
  
Lexa listened to all of them, thinking the suggestions over. “A hunt would be easier to plan, but a tournament is possible as well. I could schedule it for the end of the summer.” She looked up again, meeting her aunt's gaze from the other end of the table and nodded, telling her, “I'll think on it. Thank you for the suggestion, Aunt.” The duchess nodded once, giving her a small, simple smile, and then the conversation continued on to other topics, always remaining light. Lexa wondered if everyone else at the table also had a headache since it almost never stayed this civil for this long when she and her aunt were in the same room without an under current of tension. There weren't even any hints of arguments however as the fourth and the fifth courses were served and the queen thanked the gods for it.  
  
Once the meal was over they parted ways, Nia and Roan likely going to the rooms Lexa had given them for their stay and Aden and the queen walking with Anya to one of their small meeting rooms. Titus was already in the room when they arrived, reading through a scroll thoroughly as he picked at a plate of cheese and fruit one of the servants had already put out. Seeing the food made her stomach roll and her headache spike and Lexa bypassed it, instead pouring herself a cup of wine from the skin beside the tray. She watered it down with the pitcher beside it and then took a sip, the cool sweetness cutting through her headache just a little bit. Anya eyed her as she helped herself to a cup as well, not watering the wine down. “What's with you?”  
  
“Nothing,” she replied automatically, skimming over the other few scrolls laid out precisely on the table and not looking up to see the look they were all probably giving her. She didn't sit, her legs stiff and needing the stretch, but was at least glad to hear the scraping of chair legs against the floor as both Anya and Aden did. Reaching out and pulling one of the scrolls over to her she asked offhandedly, “Titus, what would we need to do to have a tournament ready by the end of summer?”  
  
“A tournament?” her adviser repeated and Lexa nodded, finally lifting her eyes from the table to look at him. He tilted his head up and looked at the ceiling, likely going over countless lists in his head. “We'd need to hire more cooks, purchase the food, go over the tourney field and make any repairs needed.” Lexa nodded: it had been years since the last tournament in Polis, back when her father was still alive. She never hosted them as a child and then she'd been too busy uniting her people and destroying her enemy to have any. The fields had been maintained but would still need a little work before anyone would be able to use them. “We would also have to put together a winner's purse, though that shouldn't be too difficult...” He trailed off for a moment before his eyes widened a fraction, enough of a change from his usual expression for all of them to notice. The adviser looked back at Lexa and just from the look she had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he said next. “Perhaps that's how you could pick your husband,” he suggested, trying to sound uninterested but failing entirely. “We could state that only unmarried men could sign up and that the winner would be able to mar-”  
  
“No,” Lexa growled, cutting him off. She didn't even care that it was rude, she refused to let him finish his thought. “Absolutely not. The winner will get a purse and that's it.”  
  
Under normal circumstances Titus would have immediately dropped it but apparently she'd put this off long enough he wasn't willing to tonight.  
  
“You need to decide soon, Your Majesty,” he informed her, not looking away from her. “The Kongeda needs a king and you need an heir. You are twenty-four; when your mother was your age you were five years old. You have a duty to your people and if-”  
  
“I am well aware of my duty, Titus,” she stated loudly, just managing to keep herself from yelling. Her temples throbbed and her jaw clenched, red-hot anger simmering beneath her skin. She was absolutely not in the mood to have this discussion with him yet again, and would not try to tamper her annoyance if he tried to keep speaking about it. “I have never failed to do my duty before and won't fail this time either, but I also _will not_ be a prize in some games. You will put together a purse for the victor and we will plan this tournament for the end of the summer. In two weeks I will also be taking whatever nobles would like to go on a hunt and perhaps whatever we get during that can go towards feeding everyone at the tournament.” He nodded resolutely, his lips pulled back in a thin line and she returned it with her own nod. Her gaze dropped back down to the scrolls on the table and her brow creased, having absolutely no desire to go over it all. She knew she would likely regret this later but the next moment her cup was back on the table and she had turned around, already making her way over to the door. “I will go over all of this in the morning, but for the moment I'm going to bed. I do not want to be disturbed.” She didn't give any of them a chance to argue with her, quickly pushing the door open and slipping back into the hallway.  
  
She hadn't gone more than a few feet when she heard the door open and close again behind her and she looked up in a partial eye roll, already knowing who it was.  
  
“I can walk to my room alone,” she growled, her mood too foul now to bother being polite. Anya fell into step beside her, having no problem keeping up with her as she began walking a little faster and it irked the queen to see the nonchalant look on her best friend's face.  
  
“You can,” she agreed easily beside her, giving a little nod and expression in no way showing anything but cool confidence, “but you're not going to.”  
  
“I'm not a child,” Lexa told her, her tone low and even she could hear her anger licking at her words. “I don't need to be escorted to my own room in my own home.”  
  
“Go ahead, keep growling at me all you want, you're still not getting rid of me until we're at your room and I see the Guards posted outside it,” she replied lightly, eyebrows barely even lifting as she spoke. Her easy mood just made the brunette angrier but she kept her mouth closed, sure that if she allowed herself to speak now her usual control would be entirely gone and she'd say something she immediately regretted. They walked the rest of the way to Lexa's bedchambers in silence, and true to her word Anya only left her once the two Guards outside the doors had bowed to her and the queen was letting herself in the room. Once inside she quickly stripped out of the dress she'd had to wear to dinner and changed into her nightgown, getting into bed within minutes after blowing out the many candles spread out around the room. She hoped her headache and anger might be doused out along with the flames but had no such luck.  
  
Lexa really did have every intention of going to sleep, but after what had to have been at least an hour of tossing and turning she finally gave up, throwing her summer sheets aside and rolling herself back out of bed. Without even thinking about it she stripped out of the nightgown and put on a pair of breeches and a shirt, giving the Guards her now usual library excuse as she left her room. It seemed like her mind didn't even need to tell her feet which way to go at the end of the hall, her body just automatically turning for her and soon she found herself in the small food pantry again, snapping the sword that now seemed to be almost permanently stored there to her belt. Once it and her cloak were on she waited impatiently by the door, taking the first opportunity she saw to sneak into the kitchen and out of the palace.  
  
Somehow the noise in the streets of Polis didn't seem to add to her headache; if anything the further she walked into the city the lighter the ache at her temples became. She suspected it had less to do with the city and more to do with her destination but didn't let herself think on it much. It had been barely forty-eight hours since she last saw Clarke, since the redhead had nearly yelled at and then stormed away from her, but apparently she couldn't stay away any longer. She shouldn't care so much about one woman's opinions on her or her feelings but thinking about Clarke and her anger had made it nearly impossible for her to focus on anything else. If she was going to get anything done for the rest of the week she needed to see her, and that was all there was to it.  
  
For the first time when she walked into The Rig there wasn't anyone waiting to be seen to, the front room empty except for Luna behind her desk and the same man as always standing beside her. The mistress looked up at her, eyebrows lifting for a moment in surprise, but then gestured to the wall at the other side of the room. “She's busy. Should be available soon.”  
  
“Thank you,” the queen replied and then went over to stand in what she was coming to consider her usual spot. She'd only been standing there for a few minutes when two sets of footsteps came padding down the hall and she turned to see Jasper leading a man a few years older than him into the small room. The man didn't say anything as he passed by the boy, nodding over to Luna behind the desk and tucking his shirt into his breeches before leaving, but Jasper looked over at her, lifting an eyebrow in surprise. Lexa tried not to focus on the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt, only a thin pair of breeches covering him and made sure to instead focus on his face.  
  
“Lexa, right?” he asked, eyeing her over, and the brunette nodded. Both eyebrows raised now as he continued to look her over, clearly taking in the quality of her cloak and what he could see of the clothes underneath it. He let out a low whistle, apparently impressed. “You look a little different than you did the other night.” She didn't know what to say to that, didn't know what Clarke might have said about her or what was safe to say, so she remained quiet, just meeting his eyes. “You here for Clarke?”  
  
“I am,” she replied, nodding once and he mirrored it. He seemed to be thinking something over for a second and then she watched as one corner of his mouth curled up into a grin before he gestured back behind him. “Come on, I'll take you to her,” he offered, flashing her more of his smile. “I think she was about to head up to her room when I was coming down.”  
  
“Jasper,” Luna spoke up, looking up at him from her desk but he just turned his grin on her. “No worries Luna, I'll be back in a minute or two, and it's not like you've got a line of people waiting. We'll just be quick.” He didn't wait for his mistress to say anything else, just turned around and began walking down the hall, and Lexa glanced over at the woman for a second, not entirely sure what to do, before following him.  
  
“So you and Clarke are friends now, huh?” he threw over his shoulder, looking back at her. The idea warmed her like it always did but at the same time the memory of the redhead all but storming away from her countered it, and after a moment she answered quietly, “We are... something, yes.” His eyebrows rose again and then lowered as he turned to face forward. “Alright then. Well you're lucky, Clarke isn't friends or something like it with just anyone. If she likes you then it must mean something.”  
  
Lexa bit the inside of her lip, her heart skipping a beat at the idea. She really didn't know what they were but she knew that they were something, and as long as they continued to be something it would be enough for her. As long as Clarke didn't hate her she could be happy.  
  
The usual noises filled the hall as they walked down it, and Lexa thought maybe she'd now been there enough to be used to it, the groans no longer making her throat dry every time she heard them. Maybe that was why she was so entirely unready for it, was thrown so completely when Jasper began to lead her by an open door and she heard a familiar voice. Without thinking she turned towards it and instantly stopped in her tracks, her feet suddenly feeling as though they were stuck to the floor. She looked into the open room and immediately her stomach dropped, heart stopped, and mind went completely blank, forgetting even how to breathe.  
  
The room was furnished to comfortably allow for multiple people, and at the moment three couples were making use of it, but the only one the queen could look at had somehow been placed directly in the line of view of the doorway. Clarke was on her hands and knees on a lounge, her red hair spilling over her shoulders but in no way covering the bounce of her breasts as the man behind her pounded into her. Lexa could see his fingers clutching at the younger woman's hips as he thrust into her over and over, Clarke's body shifting back and forth with each movement and for some reason the pads of her own fingers suddenly tingled. The man was grunting behind her while Clarke moaned and the sound went straight to Lexa's stomach only to then pool between her thighs while her mouth and throat went absolutely bone dry. She could feel not only her cheeks but her entire face heat up, flushing what had to be a deep and impressive red.  
  
For a second she stood planted where she was, unable to look away, and then by some cruel trick of the gods Clarke's head turned, looking towards the doorway and their eyes suddenly met. The younger woman's moan cut off abruptly as her eyes widened in shock but Lexa didn't stick around to see what would happen next. Almost the moment she met blue eyes she was finally able to move again and she fled, nearly running back down the hall she'd just come from. Luna looked up when she heard her coming but Lexa couldn't look anywhere but directly in front of her until she burst out of the front door.  
  
Now outside, the queen forced herself to take long, deep breaths, partially to make herself calm down and partially to make sure she still knew how to breathe. She blinked rapidly, trying to get the images of Clarke's pale skin and beautifully bare body out of her mind, but no matter how many times she blinked the memories were seared into her mind, likely never to be forgotten. She needed water but didn't have any and certainly had no intention of going back inside to find any, so had to settle for trying to swallow over and over again to wet her dry mouth. Looking around she found the bench outside of The Rig empty and went over to it, sitting down heavily. She'd come here to talk to Clarke and couldn't leave until she had, but also knew she wouldn't be able to go back inside until she'd managed to calm down, and judging by the way her heart was currently ramming into her chest she had a feeling that would be a while. She wanted to meditate, to attempt to center herself and clear her mind like Titus had taught her to do when she was young but didn't dare close her eyes with the many people on the street around her. Instead she focused on her breath, counting slowly as she took air in, holding it to another count and then slowly letting it back out. She repeated the steps over and over again until she felt like she'd managed to regain some semblance of control over herself and then kept going, anything to try to keep her mind clear.  
  
Two people left The Rig while she was sitting out there, the first one someone she had never seen before but the second recognizable only because his features kept playing at the edges of her memories. She could see his hands on Clarke's hips, his own hips snapping against her, and as he sauntered away from the building something hot spilled over in her gut and it was only her iron control that kept her from loosening the sword at her waist and making a quick cut at his legs. She'd like to see him saunter away after her blade bit deep into the back of his knees. He disappeared into the crowd and she went back to her counting, having to start over again to rein in the heat in her gut she was trying to tell herself wasn't jealousy. A couple of minutes after he disappeared another person exited The Rig but this person stopped beside her bench and Lexa felt her neck and ears heat up a little as she carefully eyed Clarke in her periphery.  
  
“Jasper shouldn't have done that,” she stated after a few seconds of awkward silence between them. Lexa noticed her fiddling with the sash around the middle of the robe she now wore, probably too embarrassed to stand completely still. “He's a prick. Trust me, I'll be yelling at him later.”  
  
“It's fine,” Lexa tried to assure her, shifting a little on the bench but not quite able to meet her eye. “I was just... surprised, that's all. I'm sorry if I... interrupted.” They stayed there awkwardly for another few seconds before Clarke let out a long sigh, running a hand over her face. “I need a drink.” She turned and looked over her shoulder, nodding for the queen to follow her. “We'll change and then go back to the Dropship.” Lexa nodded and then stood, following her back into The Rig. As they walked she made sure to look nowhere but at the younger woman's back in front of her, trying to pretend she didn't know how pale the skin beneath her robe was.  
  
Clarke stopped when they reached the staircase and gestured up it. “I'll meet you in my room. I have to get a couple of things from the kitchen.” Lexa's eyes scanned over her briefly and then she nodded, passing by the redhead and continuing up the stairs. Clarke turned and made her way to the kitchen, and when she stepped inside and saw who was sitting at the table she glared. Jasper looked up from his stool as she walked in, immediately grinning.  
  
“Clarke!” he exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Finished with your guest already? _So_ sorry I interrupted.”  
  
“It's not funny Jasper,” she growled, shooting him a look. “You are absolutely going to pay for that.” Beside him Monty looked up from the dough he was kneading, lifting an eyebrow as he glanced over at his friend. “What did you do and how much trouble are you in?”  
  
“I didn't do anything,” Jasper replied, leaning back on his stool and trying to look indignant. He glanced back over to the redhead as she made her way to the table, grabbing the tea pot set out at its center and pouring herself a cup. “I was _trying_ to be helpful by bringing her new _friend_ Lexa to her, but turns out she was in the middle of seeing to another guest.” Monty shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “It was nice knowing you, Jasper. I'll miss you.” His best friend spluttered beside him and Clarke hid the hint of a smile behind her mug as she took a sip.  
  
“What?” Jasper demanded, throwing his hands up. “It's not like she hasn't seen you naked before. What, does your noble friend not like sharing so she doesn't want to see you with anyone else? Cuz if that's it, then she's dumb for thinking you're only ever naked with her.”  
  
She could have told him that Lexa had never seen her naked – well, not like that at least – and had definitely never seen her being fucked before, but that would create far more questions than it answered. Clearly he thought she was one of Clarke's nobles and nothing more, and that worked for her. So rather than correct him she just gave him another glare, telling him, “It doesn't matter, you still shouldn't have done that. It wasn't funny.”  
  
“Here Clarke,” Monty broke in, wiping hands covered with flour on the apron tied around his waist and then pushing a plate of bread and hard cheese over to her. He gave her a smile, saying, “If you're gonna kill Jasper you'll need your strength.” The two shared a grin while Clarke helped herself to a slice of bread and cheese while the other boy crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed.  
  
Two days after Dax's attack when both Monty and Clarke agreed he could start moving around again Luna had assigned him to the kitchens. There he'd helped cook and clean, all work he was already familiar with, and despite being covered with a thin layer of flour ever since, Clarke had to admit he did look like he was getting better. All of his cuts had scabbed over and the smallest of them were now just thin lines, while the bruises had all faded to yellows and greens instead of their dark purples and blues and reds. She and Luna had both told him to take it easy but whenever any of the cooks had an order for him he completed it without any complaints and Clarke was pretty sure they'd be sorry to see him go once he was well enough to start his normal work again.  
  
Clarke ate the bread and cheese quickly, already having had a small dinner, and then grabbed her mug of tea and got up from the table. Before leaving the kitchen she went over to the corner where a bucket of water and some old worn rags were, dunking one in and then ringing it out. She hung it over her arm and then left, waving back to Monty and giving Jasper one final glare. With tea and rag in hand she made her way back to the stairs and then began the climb up them, thoughts quickly turning back to the woman she would find waiting for her in her room. The anger she'd felt two nights ago was still there, still flickered slightly in her chest, but had died down enough since then to look past and now other emotions overwhelmed it. She did her best to ignore them all, pushing them down as she tried to hide from them.  
  
Opening the door to her room, she found the queen standing at the foot of her bed, her stance stiff and a little awkward. Her cloak was already folded up neatly and placed on the end of the mattress, her sword and belt laying beside it, but it was clear she hadn't sat or probably even really moved much since taking them off. Green eyes glanced around the room, undoubtedly taking in the small shelf of herbs that hung on one wall, the bed and small table beside it, and the single piece of art Clarke had put up, a charcoal drawing she'd done herself of the view she once had of the Arkadian forest whenever she looked out the window in her old bedroom. When Clarke stepped into the room those green eyes immediately shifted to her, and for a second she looked away from them, for some reason not able to meet them.  
  
“You could have sat down you know,” she stated after closing the door behind her. Crossing the room she placed the mug of tea on the table to finish after she had changed.  
  
The queen looked at the bed and then back at her, telling her, “I didn't want to impose.” When Clarke finally looked over, lifting an eyebrow, her stiff expression softened a little and her shoulders loosened. “And I've been sitting most of the day so standing for a few minutes felt nice.” It was her turn to quickly look away, a pink blush still splayed across her cheeks Clarke was trying not to notice, and she nodded to the picture. “Did you do this?”  
  
“Mm,” she confirmed, not looking at the image, instead moving over to her closet. Her hand went straight to the brown dress Lexa always wore, the action apparently automatic now, and she handed it and a pair of hose to the other woman. “It's very good,” the queen told her, the sincerity clear in her voice, “You're very talented.”  
  
The younger woman just shrugged as she turned back to the closet. “Thank you,” she replied, mind only partially on the conversation as she started rummaging through until she found a simple dark green dress that would do. As she loosened the sash of her robe and let the material fall away she heard soft movements behind her, and couldn't quite stop herself from peaking over her shoulder. The queen's back was already to her, apparently knowing this time to turn around as soon as she'd been given the dress, and Clarke couldn't quite keep her eyes from sweeping over the brunette's bare back as she neatly folded her shirt. Somehow her skin held a stunning summer tan or maybe was just naturally tanned, and she had to swallow thickly before prying her gaze away and turning back around. With her robe now on the floor she used the damp rag she still held to wipe at her thighs, cleaning the small mess from her night up before she began to pull on the new dress.  
  
Within minutes both women had finished dressing but they still had a hard time looking at each other. Clarke couldn't tell if the strangeness between them came more from their last interaction at the palace or from what the queen had accidentally just seen but it was there and nearly palpable in the air between them. Almost just for something to do she walked over to where she'd set her tea and lifted the cup, gulping down a large swallow. From the corner of her vision she saw the brunette look at her, her hands smoothing down the skirt of her dress for something to do as well. “What's that?” she asked, probably just to try to break up the awkwardness between them. The redhead's eyes fell down to the liquid in her mug before she answered, “Tea. All the women drink it a couple of times a day. It helps prevent pregnancies.” She unnecessarily gestured to her stomach and watched as the queen's face brightened slightly, the pink tinge returning to her cheeks as she looked away quickly. “Oh,” she just said, and then added, “That's very smart.” Clarke nodded and then downed the last of the drink, placing the mug back on the table before turning towards the door. “Right now I could use something stronger. You ready?”  
  
“Of course,” Lexa agreed with a small nod and Clarke glanced at her again out of the corner of her eye before leading her out of the room.  
  
The walk to the Dropship was quiet, at least between them. The streets themselves were anything but, men and women shouting, children laughing and dogs barking, but the noise couldn't quite penetrate their bubble of strangeness. Lexa kept glancing at Clarke as subtly as she could and then looking away again, desperately trying to think of a way to break the tension between them. Nothing came to mind though so she instead tried to focus on everything around her, but when she did guilt weighed heavily along her shoulders. She saw far too many people who were barely more than skin and bones, their eyes sunken into their heads and rags hanging off of too-thin frames, and her second through fifth courses turned to lead in her gut.  
  
When they made it to the Dropship Clarke led them right to an empty table along one wall, far enough away from everyone else so that anything they might say wouldn't easily be overheard but close enough that they could pretend to be watching the dice game in the corner if they couldn't cut through the strangeness. Murphy raised an eyebrow at her from across the room and she held up two fingers, and only a few minutes later he was setting two tankards in front of them, leaving with nothing more than an uninterested, “Mmhm,” when Lexa thanked him. Both women reached out to fiddle with their drinks, Lexa tapping a finger lightly against the cool metal of the cup and Clarke taking an extra long gulp as soon as she had it and then turning it around and around in front of her after she'd placed it back on the table. After minutes of silence, Lexa couldn't take it anymore and decided she had to say something.  
  
“Clarke I'm...” she began, but then trailed off. Part of her wanted to apologize because she thought maybe that's what the other woman wanted, but she knew she had nothing to apologize for, not really. Dax and Connor had needed to be punished somehow for what they did to Monty, but she couldn't just let Clarke go after them, not when she could have been hurt in the process. Even if she hadn't been hurt she would have been taking the law into her own hands, and the queen couldn't just sit back and allow that. She already wasn't sure what to think about her suspicions of Clarke and this Olen person, suspicions the other woman had already all but confirmed. Her brow creased a little as she tried to think of what to say, but then she let out a small sigh, shaking her head. In the end she went with, “Thank you for helping me again. I hope you know how much it means to me.”  
  
Clarke studied the woman across the table, knowing there was more she wanted to say than what had actually come out of her mouth. She understood that, felt her own words locked away somewhere she couldn't quite reach them, and nodded in the meantime. She couldn't decide if she wanted to apologize for getting so angry with her the other night, forgive her for sending Dax and Connor away before she could do something about what they'd done to Monty, or stay angry at her for the very same thing. It all whirled inside her in a never-ending cycle too quickly for her to grasp onto one and stick with it so for now she decided the best thing to do would be to ignore all three until they could sort themselves out. “It isn't a problem,” she replied, lifting her tankard again. “It gets me out of work for a night.” She thought of something and then a smile managed to tug against the corners of her mouth and she looked at the queen over her mug. “Though if you gave me a little warning about when you were going to be by I could try to make sure not to be working then, and especially not so openly.” Lexa's cheeks flushed again and Clarke's smile grew a little, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind telling her how pretty it was.  
  
Lexa looked away and then back again, feeling her cheeks heat up. Quickly she grabbed her tankard and took a sip of the ale, the bitter drink distracting enough to help wash away her embarrassment. She thought it strange that Clarke had been the one caught so... exposed, but she was the one so embarrassed by it. Then again if the other people in that room had been anything to go by, the dark-haired woman clearly was far more used to public displays like that one than the queen was, so perhaps it wasn't strange at all.  
  
“I would, but I don't usually know when I'm going to be coming,” she informed the other woman after swallowing her sip. “Believe it or not, getting here is not always easy and requires the right circumstances.”  
  
“I'm still just surprised you can get here at all,” Clarke told her, fingers spinning her tankard around absentmindedly still. “I'm a little worried about how good your security is, especially now that you've been able to sneak in and out three times.” She made sure that Lexa would be able to hear the teasing in her voice, and was rewarded when the queen gave her a small smile.  
  
“You shouldn't be,” she replied, easing a little more into her seat. Now that they were talking she could feel the stress begin to melt out of her muscles and she relaxed, barely even noticing it as her shoulders began to sink from their signature stiffness. “My security is fine, I've just found a way around it.” She debated for a second, not entirely sure she should say more, but she wanted Clarke to know that she trusted her. Glancing down to her tankard, she grabbed at it again, trying to sound nonchalant as she added, “Nobody really recognizes me in the kitchen, and by the time I leave most of the work there is done for the night so I don't have to worry about too many people still being there.”  
  
Clarke watched the queen carefully as she talked, noticing how her fingers tightened slightly around her tankard when she mentioned the kitchen and how she purposefully didn't look at her. It didn't slip past her what she was doing, the trust she was putting in her: with that information she could easily tell anyone she wanted about the queen's trips to the city, though whether they would believe her was another thing. She understood the trust the brunette was giving her and for some reason her heart suddenly felt a little lighter in her chest. Clarke did her best to ignore the feeling, trying not to think about it as she nodded, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“Smart,” she said lightly, “That explains it.” When the queen looked back over at her she gave her a smile, hoping she would read in it what she couldn't say. Green eyes scanned her face for a moment and then the older woman's lips slowly curled up into a matching smile. Clarke's twitched as she lifted her tankard, looking over it at the queen as she teased, “It's still hard to believe you've been able to get away so much. What does Anya think you're doing?”  
  
“Anya thinks I'm sleeping,” Lexa replied without pause, finding it easier to talk about now that the redhead was smiling at her. “As do Titus and my brother. The only people aware I'm not think I'm reading in the library where I have been known to fall asleep before. No one should suspect anything.”  
  
An image of the brunette curled up in an overly large chair surrounded by books played in Clarke's mind and she felt her smile soften. It was a beautiful picture; she could see Lexa's feet tucked beneath her as she curled further into the chair, one book balanced on her knees while others lay on the arms of the chair and still more were piled on a table beside it. She could even imagine green eyes fighting to stay open and the queen's head bobbing as she slowly succumbed to sleep, and Clarke's heart squeezed in her chest. In the picture Lexa was dressed in the brown dress instead of her royal wardrobe, and the younger woman couldn't help but think it just looked right on her, both now and in the image.  
  
The queen was looking at her across the table and Clarke realized she hadn't said anything, getting lost in the thought. She coughed a little as she shifted in her seat, something catching in the back of her throat, and she shook her head. “Sneaky. I'm impressed.” She watched as Lexa's lips curled into a small smile, her head dipping a little, in thanks or embarrassment Clarke couldn't tell, but either way she found the motion more endearing than it had a right to be. To try to tamper down a strange new buzzing she felt in her stomach she took another swallow of her drink.  
  
Lexa looked up from beneath her eyelashes, chancing a glance at the other woman across the table. Clarke seemed to be more comfortable now than she had been when the tankards had been dropped off, and that thought made the brunette want to relax even more. She couldn't quite relax completely though, a question buzzing at the forefront of her mind, one she was a little afraid to ask.  
  
“How's Monty?” she finally asked hesitantly. She didn't really want to take the chance of triggering the other woman's anger again, not when they were finally seeming to get past what had happened the other night, but she had to know. Too many times over the past couple of days she'd thought about the boy, his bruised and bloodied face flashing through her mind. Clarke's eyes shifted over to her and Lexa felt herself holding her breath. She met them, refusing to look away, and could practically read the debate going on in the redhead's mind. Apparently she decided to let her anger go as the brunette watched a shift take place in her expression. She couldn't tell if she was entirely forgiven for butting in, but she would happily take it nonetheless.  
  
“He's doing alright,” Clarke answered after a moment, looking back down at her drink. “Luna's assigned him to the kitchen while he heals. I think he's enjoyed being back there.”  
  
“Back?” Lexa inquired, raising an eyebrow and she saw something flash again across the younger woman's expression before nodding. “Yeah,” she said, her tone oddly even, “he started in the kitchen when Luna hired him.”  
  
“Why's that?” Lexa wanted to know, and then clarified as she frowned, “I mean, what made him choose to leave the kitchen?” Across the table Clarke's jaw clenched for a second and inside she panicked, afraid she'd asked something she shouldn't have until the other woman started speaking.  
  
“He grew up,” she answered, fighting to keep her tone even. At the edge of her periphery she could see the queen frowning, obviously not understanding, but she couldn't look up again while she told this story. If she did she was afraid she wouldn't be able to contain her anger, and Lexa had seen enough of that already. “Luna found Monty when he was eight. His mother had sold him to another whorehouse when he was younger. She apparently had too many mouths to feed and not enough food to spare and the guy she sold him to paid a decent price for him.”  
  
Lexa stared at Clarke, horror etched into the lines of her mouth. “Eight?” she whispered, desperately hoping she'd heard wrong, but when the younger woman nodded her stomach dropped, the color washing out of her face. “But that, it's, slavery, and, and...” She couldn't even find a word to describe how horrible what she'd just heard was, and from the set of Clarke's jaw she agreed. There were laws in place that were supposed to protect people from this kind of thing, very firm laws against slavery alone and others against using children in such ways, but in Monty's case at least those laws might as well not have existed. “How, how did that happen? There are laws that are supposed to prevent those kinds of things!”  
  
Finally Clarke looked up, finding a pale and horrified woman now gaping at her and for a moment her heart broke. “There are ways around most laws,” she informed the queen quietly. “Technically Monty was paid for what he had to do so his master could say it wasn't slavery, and when he couldn't find ways around the laws...” She shrugged, trailing off. Her stomach rolled whenever she thought about the horrors Monty had endured in his life, and she knew she'd never understand how he had somehow ended up the sweet and caring young man he was. How life hadn't broken him she didn't know, but she thanked the gods every day it hadn't. “Sometimes people think it's worth breaking the law,” she continued finally, “the profit they get outweighs the possible penalty. From what I understand it wasn't exactly easy for Luna to buy him off of his old master.”  
  
“She bought him?” Lexa repeated, bile rising in the back of her throat from the story. Clarke nodded, telling her, “She does that, whenever she can. If she hears about a kid working in another house she'll buy them, hire them, and then give them other work to do until they're fourteen. Monty worked in the kitchen a lot, or cleaned. We have a girl named Charlotte right now who works as our messenger. She's been with us for a year. When they're fourteen Luna either gives them work as a whore or they can leave to try to find other work. Usually they stay.”  
  
As she spoke Lexa began shaking her head, almost numb to the movement. How had she let this happen? It was her responsibility to protect her people, but despite the laws in place horrendous things had happened – were clearly _still_ happening – and the youngest, most innocent of them weren't safe. While she'd been busy trying to unite warring houses and then fighting another kind of war the people she owed the most to had been in danger and she had done nothing to prevent it, hadn't even _known_ about it. Sure, she knew no law was perfect, knew that people even often broke them, but she liked to believe overall her people were safe. Now she knew a boy who'd likely spent years in fear and pain until someone had finally stepped in to save him. All at once Lexa hated herself, despised herself even, and knew she would never be able to see any of this as anything but the absolute worst kind of failure, the kind that could never be forgiven.  
  
Though the queen had gone quiet, Clarke could see the anger brewing in her eyes, noticed the white of her knuckles from how hard she gripped her tankard. She could practically read her mind, knowing exactly what she was thinking after thinking all the same things before about herself, and shook her head. “It's not your fault, you know,” she told her quietly, and suddenly those bright eyes flickered up to meet hers.  
  
“It's my responsibility to protect my people,” Lexa replied between grit teeth, her voice low. “I failed. What happened to Monty...” She trailed off, unable to find a way to express the anguish festering in her chest.  
  
Clarke studied her for a second, trying to shake the strangeness of having her thoughts said out loud to her by someone else. She understood every bit of what the queen was feeling at the moment, had been living with it for seven years, and it had taken her just as long to find ways to get past it all. If she were being honest with herself she still felt it all often enough, this same self-loathing the queen was experiencing, but seeing it in the queen's eyes was somehow worse. “You can't stop what you don't know is happening,” she informed the older woman, her voice soft and Lexa had to look away, her eyes snapping shut. Clarke studied her, wishing she could tell her just how much she understood the war that was raging inside her right now, but instead having to settle for just the soft words.  
  
_But now I know_ , Lexa thought as she bit the inside of her cheek, _and now I will stop i_ t. It was too late to do anything to help Monty; Luna had stepped in and done that for her, but the queen would find a way to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Later that night when she was back in her room she would go over the story again, and after likely getting sick from the images it gave her she would plan, would find a way to keep future children safe; she doubted she would sleep until she at least had a few ideas of how to do just that.  
  
The conversation died out for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Lexa tried to move past the story, tried to tuck it away to go over again later but kept failing, the boiling anger in her chest not yet ready to be pushed aside. Clarke watched the other woman, seeing it all warring behind bright green eyes that tried to hide her feelings away and wished she could do something to help but knew that anger too well to really believe she could do anything to douse it. After the silence had spread between them for a while she saw Emori walk across the room out of the corner of her eye to a table in the far corner, holding a tray of something, and decided the best thing she could do was try to completely change the subject.  
  
“Are you hungry?,” she asked, watching as green eyes focused on her once again. She motioned towards the inn's mistress, saying, “I can find out what Emori's got in the kitchen if you are.”  
  
Lexa could see what Clarke was trying to do and something cracked a little in her chest, but unfortunately the question didn't quite have the affect she knew the redhead was going for. Thoughts of the lavish dinner she'd had flashed through Lexa's mind quickly followed by images of some of the people they'd passed on their way to get here and her stomach turned, guilt rising like bile in her throat to mix with the anger that still sizzled in her chest. “No, thank you,” she replied, doing her best to keep both emotions out of her voice, and gestured to her drink. “The drink is just fine. I ate with my aunt tonight so I've had plenty.”  
  
Mentioning the duchess caused Clarke's expression to change, her brow popping up. A cool interest Lexa immediately recognized flashed across the redhead's face, enough to help her momentarily push her thoughts of Monty and all she'd learned in the past few minutes to the side. The younger woman fiddled with her tankard, one finger drawing nonsensical patterns along its surface as she stated dryly, “I'm sure that was... interesting.”  
  
Lexa let out a small noise, something that Clarke might have called a scoff if it had come from anyone else. It felt strange to the queen, mixing weirdly with the remnants of anger and guilt still in her chest, but she let it help push them away. “It was quiet, for the most part,” she told her, “which is better than how many of our meals turn out. My aunt and I share very different philosophies, and she is one of the few people more than willing to openly argue with me.”  
  
Clarke wondered if she was also on that list but didn't ask to find out; from her very brief interaction with the duchess, she didn't think she wanted to be associated with her in any way, even if it was just on some made up list. Instead she took another swallow of her drink, saying once she'd finished, “Well I'm glad your dinner went well.”  
  
“Mm,” Lexa agreed with a small nod, shifting in her seat a little to look over the room, hoping it would help to push the last bits of negative emotions away. Just like the last time they were here a dice game was being played in one corner of the room, many of the same faces she remembered huddled around the table while a few new ones had joined as well. Four other tables were also occupied, their occupants drinking or eating either in silence or talking loudly. The closest people to their table was a man and a woman two spots over who appeared to be having an argument of some kind, their voices getting louder and then quieting back down before rising again only a moment later. Altogether there were fewer people than there had been the last time she was here but despite it she still had plenty to take in as her eyes flickered around the room to try. As she looked she continued her own conversation, informing her companion, “It was actually a beneficial meal. My aunt suggested we have a tournament at the end of the summer. I have Titus already working on putting it together.” She didn't mention her adviser's suggestion that had been the catalyst that brought her to the city; to the best of her ability, she didn't even want to think about it.  
  
Across the table, Clarke's eyebrows rose and she returned her attention to her own table. “A tournament, huh? That'll be a lot of work to pull off in a month.” Lexa shrugged, telling her, “It will be difficult, yes, but we'll manage it. It helps that just about everyone who will want to participate is already in the city.” She paused for a moment, eyes falling back to her tankard and stared at the dark liquid inside it. Almost against her will a memory played at the back of her mind of the singular tournament she'd ever been to. She had been five and she could still remember the feeling of excitement fluttering in her chest as she tried not to show it. She'd watched from the stands as knights and squires paraded before her, some showing off their skill with the sword, others firing arrow after arrow at targets and still more jousting against each other, their horses' hooves sounding like rolls of thunder as they raced across the dirt. Through it all her father had sat next to her, and she could still remember the grin that had been tucked away at the corners of his mouth whenever he looked over at her, clearly reading her excitement. Later that night she'd proclaimed she wanted to compete in the next tournament and he had just laughed his full-belly laugh while her mother shook her head beside them.  
  
It was a memory she didn't often let herself think about, as were every other memory she had of her parents. Usually it hurt too much, remembering their smiles and the sound of their voices, but in this moment the memory warmed her instead. She didn't know if it was because of the stark difference between it and what they'd just been talking about or if it was because of the company – though she had her suspicions which it was – but rather than fight against it she decided to let herself have this moment.  
  
Clarke watched her from across the table, scanning her face. She could see something soften in the queen's expression, watched as her lips curled up just a little. Suddenly she felt as though she were intruding on something private but she couldn't look away, wondering just how many people had ever been able to see this side of the brunette before. If she had to guess it wouldn't be many, and she knew that like her, any of the people who ever had were luckier than they could imagine. For a second she stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb the look in the queen's eyes, but finally she found herself asking quietly, “What are you thinking about?” Lexa's eyes flickered up to her, widening slightly for just a moment as though she'd been caught and Clarke immediately felt guilty, but then after a flash of hesitation she answered just as quietly, “My parents. My father held the last tournament when I was five. He was very good at putting them together.” She glanced back down at the table, for some reason unable to meet the other woman's eyes as she admitted with a partial smile, “I told him I wanted to compete in the next one. He laughed and told me he would love to see that.” She cleared her throat when she felt heat rising in it, sitting up a little straighter. “I can't, of course,” she added, her voice losing some of its softness as she returned back to the present, “Compete, I mean. No one would really fight against me except maybe Anya, and even if they did I couldn't take the chance of getting hurt. It was a silly child's wish, and one he probably shouldn't have encouraged.”  
  
Lexa's flip back into the ever-serious queen was painful to watch and it made Clarke's heart squeeze in her chest. She knew what it was like to push dreams and happy memories away because of a harsh reality. Unable to sit back and do nothing as the steel began to creep back into the older woman's expression she reached across the table, her hand falling on top of one of the queen's and giving it a squeeze. Lexa's brow rose in surprise and she glanced at the hand and then at the redhead, and Clarke just squeezed a little tighter. “It's a father's job to encourage his daughter. No matter what else your father was, I'm sure he knew that. He just wanted to see you happy, Lexa.”  
  
Emotion swarmed inside the queen's chest, buzzing like a hive of bees, and she quickly grabbed her tankard, taking a big swallow to wash it down. She didn't even realize she grabbed it with her free hand, not so much as moving the hand held in Clarke's. When the sudden burn at the back of her throat had been lessened she nodded, setting her cup back down as she asked softly, “Did your father encourage your dreams?” She noticed a pain she understood all too well flash across blue eyes and the redhead looked away, taking a second before she nodded. “He did. My mother did too, for the most part, but my father just... he had a way of making me believe I could do anything. Everything.”  
  
Lexa nodded, reading how much Clarke's father had meant to her by the softness and pain in her voice. She understood that and knew not to push any further. “What happened to your mother?” she asked instead, her voice quiet. She was sure they'd never talked about the redhead's mother before and she couldn't help but be curious. Clarke looked back at her and Lexa noticed her purse her lips and then swallow, her eyes getting caught on the movement of the other woman's neck. “I lost her,” she answered simply, her voice a little rough, “shortly after I lost my father.” The queen didn't try to pry any further, just turned her hand over beneath Clarke's so she could slip her fingers into the spaces between the other woman's. She squeezed her hand, hoping that the pressure would be enough to tell her how much she meant it as she whispered, “I'm sorry. I know what it's like losing both parents so close together.”  
  
“I know you do,” Clarke replied quietly, returning the squeeze. “I'm sorry for you too.” She could remember the day everyone at Arkadia had learned about the queen's death. She'd only been seven and hadn't entirely understood what was going on, but when her mother had taken her into her arms she'd cried along with her. After a long and grueling pregnancy the queen had given birth to her second child, baby Prince Aden, but the healers had been unable to save her. When she was older she'd learned that the queen's body had been weak ever since giving birth to her first child, which is why almost a decade had gone by between her pregnancies. Less than a year later the king had been killed by the Reapers and an eleven-year-old had taken on the responsibilities of a nation. Clarke looked at Lexa now and read the pain and the guilt that washed across her face, noticed the way she clenched her jaw as she tried desperately not to show any emotion and a vice squeezed at her heart. She understood what it was like to have to grow up all at once but at least she had been a little older when it had happened to her.  
  
Neither woman said anything else for a long while but neither did they let go of the other's hand, silently tethering themselves to this one other person who might actually be able to understand the pain their hearts beat with every day. In the corner of the inn's common room the people playing dice groaned and cheered with every roll, people at the other tables yelled or laughed, but Clarke and Lexa sat in a bubble of silent understanding, wondering how two lives that had turned out so different could actually be so similar.  
  
They didn't know, but neither did they try to question it as they held onto each other and let the relief of being with someone who understood wash through them. The minutes ticked by and neither moved, too content to even think about leaving.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“Faster!” the Captain of the Guard barked, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the two dozen people running around the courtyard. “Move! Faster!”  
  
Aden gasped for breath as he ran, staring fixedly at the backs in front of him as he tried desperately to ignore the way his legs wobbled with every step and how a sharp pain sparked at his side. It had suddenly started stabbing at him a few minutes ago when they were on their fifth lap, and no matter how hard he tried to pretend he couldn't feel it he couldn't help but wince every now and then as he took in an especially deep breath. He didn't say anything about it though, just grit his teeth and made himself keep going as he stared straight ahead.  
  
He was learning very quickly that there was a big difference between watching the Guard train and training with the Guard.  
  
“Alright, enough,” Indra finally called after another full lap, and Aden nearly fell to the ground as he finally stopped running, hands bracing themselves on his knees as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. Most of the men and women around him were in much the same state which made him feel a little better, only a few of them managing to remain upright as though they'd only taken a minor jog and not the multi-lap run Indra had sent them on. The stitch at his side flared up as his body rocked with short deep breaths, but at least he was no longer running.  
  
“Not bad, Your Highness,” Lincoln told him, coming up behind him and dropping one hand to his shoulder. Aden hated him a little bit in that moment, solely for the fact that he was one of the ones who looked like they'd barely broken a sweat. His own tunic was sticking to him uncomfortably and he had to tug at it a little before he stood back up. “Not everyone can make it all the way through Indra's laps their first time.”  
  
“Not a... problem,” the prince managed to get out between gasps, forcing a half-smile up at the older man. Lincoln's lips curled up at that, one eyebrow rising a bit. “I see you're just as stubborn as your sister. She always says the same thing.” The others around them began moving again and Lincoln looked up, his grin growing as he squeezed the boy's shoulder. “Come on,” he said, nodding towards the others, “we're not done yet.” Aden wanted to groan but held it in, straightening out and trying to act like his legs weren't practically shaking as he followed the Second in Command.  
  
After the laps Indra broke the Guard and Aden into pairs, setting them up to practice their sword work. The prince wasn't sure if he was getting special treatment or not when he found himself across from Lincoln, but when the bigger man suddenly attacked he realized if he was it wasn't the kind he might have expected. Many people would have held back against the heir to the throne, even thrown the fight, but not Lincoln. When he attacked Aden had to work to fend him off, and trying to find an opening to make his own attack was nearly impossible as the big man bore down on him. He wasn't as fast as Anya but his size and strength were clearly just as dangerous, and soon Aden was sure there wasn't a single dry spot on his tunic as the movements and hot sun beat down on him.  
  
The mock battles continued for what felt like a long time to the prince but in reality he knew it couldn't have been more than a half hour. By the time Indra called the order to halt though his arms felt like lead and as soon as he let his sword fall back to his side he wondered if he'd even be able to lift it again. Lincoln just gave him another easy smile, nodding to him as he re-sheathed his sword at his waist.  
  
“Your training with Anya is coming along well,” he noted as he rolled his shoulders a few times. “There were a few times I thought I had you and you pulled right out of it.”  
  
Aden returned his smile, his tired body worth the praise. “Thanks,” he replied, somehow managing to re-sheathe his sword as well despite the incredible weight of the weapon. “She's taught me a lot.” He gestured to the people around them, adding, “She thinks I can learn more from the Guard while she's busy with Lexa. She says Indra's the toughest trainer out there, that she learned more from her than she did from her own knight-master.”  
  
Lincoln let out a chuckle, the sound pulling from his chest. “She's not wrong about that. Indra's definitely known for her ruthless training.”  
  
“Ruthless is right,” they heard someone mutter near them, but Aden didn't catch whoever it was. The words just made the older soldier grin and Aden couldn't help but wonder if maybe Indra wasn't the only ruthless one.  
  
“Lincoln,” they suddenly heard called, and turned to see the Captain herself standing a few yards away. He straightened, giving the prince another small smile, before jogging over to her. “Show these children what a true fighter looks like,” she told him once he'd reached her, nodding to three Guards standing beside her. Her Second grinned, drawing his sword again, and told her, “Yes Captain.”  
  
Aden would have thought with three opponents that Lincoln would have a challenge, but apparently not. He watched with wide eyes as the three men came at him all at once but the Second countered or avoided each strike. His legs moved as freely as his sword, striking out when one of his opponents got a little too close to his side, and when that man went toppling to the ground Indra just pointed at another member of the Guard watching, ordering, “You: let's see if you can make this a fair fight.” The woman she'd pointed to nodded quickly and grabbed at her sword, but even with her inclusion Lincoln didn't seem to have any problem. Aden watched, entirely fascinated, until Indra finally called a halt to the match and all four of the big man's opponents limped away, gasping for water.  
  
“That was incredible!” Aden exclaimed, handing his own waterskin over to Lincoln. The soldier nodded his thanks and then poured a good portion of it over his head before finally taking a long gulp.  
  
“Not really,” he finally replied, pulling the waterskin away and Aden was relieved to at least see he was winded, his chest rising and falling quickly. He nodded back to the Captain who had already begun calling out orders to another set of Guards. “I've seen her fight seven opponents at once and win.” Aden's eyes bulged, looking at Indra with all new respect. He wasn't even sure Anya could do that, and everything he'd seen up until now made him believe the knight was one of the best fighters there was.  
  
“Not that we're not happy to have you with us, but where is your knight-mistress today?” Lincoln asked as he handed the prince back his waterskin. “She's not one to miss training or an opportunity to beat her squire and maybe a few helpless Guard members into the ground.”  
  
Aden let out a laugh, knowing that was exactly what Anya liked best. She'd scowled the whole time she'd told him to train with the Guard earlier that morning, clearly wishing she could be there too, but he knew her duty to his sister would always come first.  
  
“She's with Lexa,” he answered, looking away from the big Guard to peer around the courtyard. “She had a meeting with Lord Ryder this morning she had to go to.” Lincoln nodded, not asking anymore questions, but from the subtle rise of his eyebrows Aden was pretty sure he had a good idea exactly what kind of meeting it was.  
  
Lexa had done her best to put it off for as long as she could, but finally Titus and Nia wore her down. Yesterday she had spent much of the morning with Lord Nyko and today it was Ryder, and Aden knew she planned to spend each morning with another single eligible lord until she'd seen and spoken with each one. By the end of the summer she would have all the information she needed and would pick one to be her husband. Aden knew she hated it, knew she had no desire at all to get married and would be miserable throughout every meeting, but he also knew she would do it anyway. To his sister nothing was more important than her duty, to her people and her title, and he knew she would never do anything to jeopardize either. He hated thinking about how unhappy she would be, both for the next few weeks and likely once she was married, but they had both learned at a very young age that their individual happiness wasn't nearly as important as what was good for their nation. What their nation needed was a king and heirs, and Aden knew however unhappy it would make her his sister would provide both.  
  
Indra barked a new set of orders and everyone fell to the ground, using their arms to push themselves up to her count. The exercise was meant to strengthen the arms and shoulders and was one Anya had already pounded into Aden's muscles, so despite the fact his arms already ached from his match with Lincoln he managed to keep up, only shaking a little as he continuously pushed himself up and lowered himself down. The Guards around him followed the Captain's orders just as he did, and for a few minutes he was able to lose himself into the rhythmic counting and sounds of two dozen people moving along with it.  
  
“Your Highness,” he suddenly heard beside him, Lincoln's voice breaking through his concentration, and he looked over to the man beside him to see him looking towards the end of the courtyard. Lincoln nodded and Aden followed his gaze, finding Titus standing behind the short granite rise that separated the bailey and the walkways just outside of the palace. His sharp eyes were on the prince and Aden let out a sigh, getting in one more pushup before he stood up and headed towards his sister's adviser.  
  
“Your Highness,” Titus greeted him with a small bow, his hands folded together in front of him. He then looked back up, telling the prince, “Lord Miller and his son have just arrived. It seems they finally made it to the city earlier this morning and wanted to greet the queen as soon as they dropped their bags off at their inn. Since the queen is busy, I thought perhaps you could greet them in her place.”  
  
“Lexa will want to greet them personally,” Aden told him, seeing exactly what the adviser was doing. Titus bowed his head again, telling him, “Her Majesty will have time to greet them after today's audience, but for now she shouldn't be interrupted. Will you see to the Millers?” Aden wanted to sigh but held it in, looking down at his tunic. It was still sweat-soaked and now had dirt all across its front, but finally he nodded.  
  
“Tell Lord Miller I'll be down to see him shortly,” he ordered, glancing back at Titus, and saw the way his lips just barely curled up.  
  
“Yes Your Highness,” he replied with a nod and then turned to do as he'd been ordered. The prince looked up, rolling his neck a little to try to work a kink out of it, and then made his way into the palace. When Lexa found out about this she wouldn't be happy, but until then he had to do his duty.  
  
Quickly he headed to his room, tossing off the dirty tunic and breeches and getting into new ones as soon as he was there. He used a bowl of water setup on the corner of his desk and a cloth to wipe away as much sweat and dirt as he could from his face and then strapped his sword and dagger back on. Now dressed in clean clothes and looking at least somewhat presentable, he left the room, jogging lightly to get to the Great Hall, knowing it was rude to keep guests waiting for too long. He slowed down just outside of it, standing up a little straighter, and then lifted his head as he stepped inside.  
  
Lord Miller and his son were waiting, Titus and a servant with them, the servant holding out a tray with a few wine goblets on it. To Aden's displeasure his aunt also stood with them, in the middle of saying something to them as he walked in but he was too far away to hear exactly what. Both Millers were in the process of selecting a glass from the servant's tray when they turned at the sound of Aden's boots on the stone floor, and then bowed as soon as they saw him. Titus did the same, his head and shoulders lowering slightly, but Nia remained upright, watching him coolly as he approached.  
  
“My lords,” Aden stated, smiling warmly at them as he'd been taught to do almost before he could walk, “welcome. I'm sorry my sister can't see you at the moment, but I'd like to welcome you to Polis in her stead. I hope you had a safe trip.”  
  
The older Miller rose first, smiling politely at the prince. “We did, Your Highness,” he replied. “It's a beautiful ride from Arkadia to Trikru.” Aden returned the smile, helping himself to a glass of the wine as soon as he'd reached them, the two lords only then taking one each as well while Nia stood still, apparently not thirsty. David Miller raised his glass just a hair, his smile still in place as he added, “And please, there's no need to be sorry; we know Her Majesty is a busy woman and are just honored that you are able to greet us, Your Highness.” His son nodded beside him, raising his glass a little too, and behind them Aden could see his aunt's lips purse, her expression just barely shifting. Lord Miller turned to her then and any trace of annoyance had already wiped off her face before he added, “And you as well of course, Your Grace.” She lifted her head a hair higher and nodded, telling him, “Of course, Lord Miller. It's my pleasure.”  
  
“I know you're likely tired after your trip, but my sister will be hosting audiences with some of our people shortly,” Aden told them, politely cutting in. “I'm sure afterward she would love to greet you herself, perhaps even invite you to take dinner with us tonight. There's a lot we have to catch you up on.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful, Your Highness,” Lord Miller agreed, giving him a smile, and then he reached into the pocket of his tunic. Out of the corner of his eyes Aden could see the couple of Guards on duty in the room shift, now watching him closely, but when his hand reappeared he held a sealed letter. “Lady Abby asked me to give you this,” he added. “We stopped at the Griffin estate before leaving Arkadia and she gave it to me. She told me they were planning to leave a few days later.”  
  
“I can give that to Her Majesty,” Nia offered, reaching out for the letter, but Aden quickly intercepted it, giving his aunt an innocent smile.  
  
“Thank you, Aunt, but I'll make sure she gets it,” he told her, already placing it in his tunic. “I'm sure she'll want to read it as soon as she's finished with the audiences today.” He could practically see his aunt's jaw clench but then she smiled, turning back towards the Millers.  
  
“So my lord, have you been able to get settled yet?” she asked, and he nodded before answering. Aden tuned in and out of the conversation, adding to it in places and trying to not let his mind wander but was only so successful. Whenever he shifted another muscle hurt, his time training with the Guard apparently taking its toll, and he just hoped his body would get used to it sooner rather than later; with Lexa's time with the eligible nobles, he had a feeling he would be doing a lot of his training with Indra and Lincoln over the next few weeks.  
  
They stood in the Great Hall, politely talking back and forth as the Millers filled them in on their trip, and before long others began filtering into the room. At some point over the last few weeks it had become custom for all the nobles to attend Lexa's audiences with the commoners who came to speak to her, and Aden knew it was so they could see their queen in action. He knew that many of them judged how she dealt with the different questions and requests, scrutinized how she handled the common people, but his sister had never acted as though she knew what they were doing. She always just sat back with her spine straight and her shoulders squared and given the people her undivided attention, and Aden admired that. He himself had a difficult time focusing on the people who came in to talk with his sister, not because he didn't care but because he would notice some of the nobles begin whispering to each other or shifting in place and knew they were talking about Lexa. He had to work hardest in those moments to remain passive, to not let any of his own thoughts show, and he admired his sister greatly for how well she held it all in. She worked harder than anyone else he knew to keep her thoughts sealed away, and he was always impressed with how well she did.  
  
Just about everyone had arrived, a few people moving to join their conversation and welcome the new lords when Aden looked around, realizing what time it was. The doors would open any minute to admit the commoners and begin the audiences, but his sister still wasn't there. She should be here by now, should have already taken her place in her throne, but it remained empty and no matter how many times he scanned the room he couldn't find her. Panic began to bubble in his chest as he realized if she didn't show up in the next minute or two he would have to run the audience, something he had never done before, and he had to hook his hands behind him like he'd often seen his sister do to keep them from shaking. Lexa was good at listening to the people, good at judging what mattered and what didn't; he wasn't. Sometimes he helped Lexa make decisions, but he'd never had to make them on his own before. He looked around once again, hoping she would suddenly appear but instead found his aunt eyeing the throne and knew if he didn't step up she would. Before she could say or do anything he began making his way over to the raised dais, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached his sister's throne rather than the one on the left just behind it he usually sat in. Titus followed behind him by a few steps to take his place at the right of the great chair but even with him there Aden's heart remained stuck in his throat. He tried not to let it show as he sat down as elegantly as possible, immediately feeling dwarfed by the magnificence of the chair.  
  
“As my sister appears to still be in a meeting, I will run the audience until she arrives,” he announced loudly, glad at least that his voice didn't shake. He could feel the eyes of the nobles on him, judging him already, but tried to ignore it, focused only on the large doors that would be opened momentarily to admit whatever commoners had come to speak with his sister.  
  
“No need, brother,” he heard behind him and he almost let out a sigh of relief as he looked around, finding Lexa and Anya entering the room from a small door at the back of the room behind the thrones. The nobles standing across the room all bowed and curtsied at one as she calmly walked towards the dais, her head held as high as ever. The prince stood back up, happy to leave her throne, and stepped back as he passed her.  
  
“Thank the gods,” he muttered under his breath as she went by, and saw her eyes flick over to him, an amused tug momentarily pulling at her lips.  
  
“Don't worry,” she assured him just as quietly, sinking regally into her chair, posture still perfectly straight, “I won't be this late again. I will be sure of it.”  
  
“She wouldn't have been this late today if Ryder hadn't insisted on a ride through the forest,” Anya stated from her spot on Aden's left, her lips barely moving. He looked over at the queen and noticed for the first time she was still wearing riding clothes, breeches and a tunic, both certainly of good quality but not what she normally wore when she met with the commoners. Titus had noticed too, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes with his lips pursed.  
  
“Perhaps Your Majesty would like to change,” he suggested, speaking just as quietly, to the point where Aden almost didn't hear him. “I'm sure your brother can handle this without you for a few minutes.” The prince blanched in his seat, smaller and far more comfortable to him than Lexa's, but the queen just lifted an eyebrow, not looking at her adviser.  
  
“I don't need dazzling clothes to greet my people, Titus,” she informed him as she looked across the room and caught the eye of the two Guards standing at the door. She nodded to them and they immediately moved, pushing the large door open. “What I'm wearing now is already better than anything any of them are likely to have. They want me to fix their problems, not show off my wealth.”  
  
If the adviser had anything to say to that he held it, head tilting back a little further as he clasped his hands in front of him. Aden glanced over at his sister once again, finding nothing but the cool confidence she always seemed to exude, and did his best to copy it. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to wear his royalty as effortlessly as she could, but he figured that was why she was queen and he was just the heir.  
  
As far as he was concerned, that was exactly the way it should stay.

***

Clarke walked her most recent guest towards the front room, forcing a smile as his hand slid down her back to rest on her butt. When he squeezed it and smirked down at her she had to fight a glare away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from pushing him away. He'd clearly wanted to go another round when they'd finished minutes ago but she managed to get her robe back on and step away before he could pull her back down on the bed. Now his wandering hand continued to make it obvious he wanted more and all she could do was smile and walk a little faster.  
  
Luna looked up from her book as the two stepped into the front room, scanning the two in less than a second and clearly seeing the look Clarke was holding back. Her expression barely changing she leaned forward, elbows resting on her desk as she gave the guest a polite smile. “Master Downard. I take it you enjoyed your time with Mistress Blake?” The man grinned at her and then Clarke had to bite her cheek harder as his hand slapped against her butt. Her hands curled into fists, her usual patience almost none-existent after dealing with men just like this one all morning. Luna must have seen something flash across her face or was just out of patience herself because her polite smile fell away as her eyebrows rose just a hair. “I'm sorry Master Downard but if you want to touch anymore of my people you're going to have to pay again. I'm sure Clarke has already given you more than your money's worth.” When the man didn't immediately move his hand away from the redhead Derrick shifted in his spot beside the desk, one hand reaching over his shoulder to rest on the pommel of his sword and just like that the man was across the room and leaving The Rig without anything but a nod. Clarke watched him go, her own forced smile quickly falling away as she rolled her neck a couple of times to stretch the muscles.  
  
“Thanks,” she told them, her fingers unclenching and moving to pull the sash around her waist tighter. She'd pulled her robe on quickly and hadn't been able to actually bother with tying it until now. Her mistress shook her head, the slight stiffness that had settled in her posture slipping away as she looked back down at her books. “Of course,” she just said as she picked up a quill and dipped it in a jar of ink beside her. She then nodded towards the door, telling her, “You're all set for the day. Monty and some of the others are out there. Tell Harper she's got the next guest.” Clarke nodded and then made her way to the door, her own posture relaxing now that she didn't have to pretend to be interested in a guest.  
  
Just as Luna had said, she found a small group of her friends loitering around the bench outside and this time Clarke's smile was genuine as she made her way over to them. Harper was sitting on the bench while Monty and Jasper stood in front of it, and when they saw her approaching they all turned their own grins on her.  
  
“You look like you've been having a good day,” Jasper joked, pretending to eye her over. She rolled her eyes at him as she sank down on the bench beside Harper, fully aware of what she must look like. She'd been working all morning with few breaks and was going off of an evening without any sleep; she knew she was likely a mess. “Looks like you've had a decent day yourself,” she told him, looking purposefully at the large mark in the crook of his neck and the matching one below it on his chest. He and Harper were both dressed for work, Jasper just wearing a pair of thin breeches while Harper had a robe on just like Clarke's. He just shrugged, lips still pulled up in a grin, and she shook her head before turning to Harper. “Luna says you have the next one.”  
  
The blonde sighed wistfully beside her, leaning forward and placing her elbows on her legs and letting her chin rest against her palms. “I knew it was coming, but I can't say I'm happy about it,” she said, and then asked, “Is there anyone waiting in there now?” Clarke shook her head and the other girl beamed, sitting back up. “Good. Then turn around and lean back a little.”  
  
Clarke did as she was told after giving her friend a look, and then closed her eyes when she felt Harper's fingers begin to run through her hair, gently loosening the many snags that always happened after hours of lying on her back and having men and women pound into her. She sighed and leaned back a little more, relaxing entirely as the blonde played with her hair.  
  
“I always like it when you darken it,” she heard Harper say behind her, sitting still as she worked at a particularly tangled knot. “It makes you look so mysterious.”  
  
To help hide her identity, Clarke had to dye her hair every few weeks, giving it the deep burgundy color she'd become known for. Between dyes she had to be careful how often she washed it or it would lighten before Niylah could get a new supply of the berries and plants they used, so often times she stuck with special oils the blonde had found for her to keep it clean. The most recent dye job had only been a couple of days ago so she knew she had another day or two of comments from her friends and the other workers in the house to get through before it would all die down again. She knew her friends thought it was strange she bothered with the process so often and that a lot of the other workers in the house just thought it was a vanity thing, but she just accepted the comments whenever they came. After all, it wasn't like she could tell them the truth of how she only did it to make sure Clarke Griffin stayed dead and Clarke Blake was all anyone would ever see.  
  
Jasper laughed at the comment, a single chuckle escaping his chest. “Yeah, because whores really need to be mysterious. The only mystery anyone cares about is what's between our legs, and as long as they have enough coin they figure that out pretty quick.”  
  
“Some people care a little bit about more than just that,” Clarke told him, looking over at him while holding her head still. Harper had managed to get out all of the tangles and was now pulling her hair into a thick braid. Suddenly she was yawning, managing to say through it, “There are people who think with more than just their cocks.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Jasper asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Did your noble last night think with more than just his cock?” She had nothing to say to that, no argument she could make, and he nodded, as though he'd won. Monty took pity on her, asking her with a sympathetic smile, “Long night?”  
  
“Very, very long,” she admitted and Harper chuckled behind her as Jasper's grin grew. Clarke just closed her eyes, not needing to see their faces to know what they were thinking and that they were all wrong. Her night had been long, but not for the reason they thought.  
  
Matt Raitt, the son of a lesser lord from the Shallow Valley had hired her to spend the night in his room at one of the better inns in Polis. This time there had been no palace party, he'd hired her simply for a whore's work, but that benefited her just fine. She played her part, batting her eyelashes and stroking his ego, and before long he had passed out, an imprint of her lip paint on his mouth, and she'd been going through his bags searching for anything that might lead her to Emerson. To her great dismay all she'd learned was that the young man was a bookworm; in one large bag she'd found a stack of them and resigned herself to go through each one. It took her the rest of the night but she skimmed every page of each, not finding anything that would give her a clue as to where or who Emerson was. By the time the first rays of dawn were streaming through the window her neck was cramping and eyes were aching, and she'd still had to play the part of happy whore when the young lord woke up. Luckily he hadn't wanted her to stay long after and Clarke had been able to make her getaway, but as soon as she got back to The Rig Luna had put her right to work and she'd had to hide her exhaustion behind coy smiles and exaggerated moans. Now it was finally mid-day and she was resting for the first time since the previous afternoon. Unfortunately for her her friends weren't nearly as tired, and were more than happy to get in the way of her rest.  
  
“You and your lords,” Harper said behind her, and from the tone of her voice Clarke knew she was shaking her head. “Maybe if you shared them with someone else you wouldn't be so tired. I know I'd be happy to help you with them. Especially if they all look as good as your Lady Lexa.”  
  
The queen's nickname made butterflies suddenly swarm in her stomach, a surprising reaction that Clarke immediately tried to quash even as she felt the corners of her mouth fight to lift up. “She's not _my_ lady,” she replied without opening her eyes, hoping her voice sounded as even as she meant it to be. “She's just a lady.” She stopped for a second, the brunette's face appearing against her eyelids, and found herself muttering without entirely meaning to, “And no one looks as good as her.”  
  
“She is really beautiful,” Monty agreed and Clarke opened her eyes, turning just enough to see Harper raise an eyebrow at him. “How would you know? The only time you've seen her is with one eye swollen shut.” He shrugged and grinned, telling her, “I could see enough to know she's pretty.”  
  
“Hm,” Jasper let out, crossing his arms over his chest and Clarke glanced over to him. “Pretty and _strange_ , maybe. I mean what's a noble doing walking around in a whore's dress?” After seeing Lexa the last time she was there he'd questioned the redhead more about her and clearly hadn't gotten enough answers yet to be satisfied. “I saw that cloak she was wearing, it's not like she needs your clothes or anything.”  
  
“She does look really good in that cloak,” Harper agreed and Clarke pretended not to feel the stab of jealousy suddenly flare up in her chest. “Though I remember her looking pretty great in that dress too.” Her fingers continued to work at Clarke's hair but as they moved she leaned forward until the redhead could see her out of her periphery. “Really Clarke, you ever decide you want to share her I am _more_ than happy to help you. I'd appreciate it way more than either of these two.” She nodded over to Jasper and Monty, Monty nodding in agreement as Jasper's brow furrowed.  
  
“What's that 'sposed to mean?” he demanded, shooting her a look, and Harper just looked up at him, both eyebrows lifting as she met his little glare. “It means that unless it's Maya you couldn't care less about helping Clarke with a pretty girl.” All at once his cheeks turned pink and he looked away, suddenly shifting where he stood and they all grinned at him.  
  
“Thanks for the offer Harper, but I'm all set,” Clarke told her after Jasper's cheeks had begun to shift away from pink and towards red. “I don't need help with any of the nobles.” _But especially not Lexa_ , she thought but didn't say as her friend sighed behind her.  
  
“Fine,” Harper said, letting the finished braid drop against Clarke's back and eyeing it over to make sure it looked good. She didn't have anything to tie it off with so Clarke turned back around on the bench, meeting light brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “But if you ever decide you'd like to share, just know I'm here for you.”  
  
“You're a true friend, Harp,” she replied, voice a little dry, and the blonde gave her a wink.  
  
They stayed out there a little longer, talking about nothing until the baker from down the street approached the building, looking them all over before going inside. Harper sighed and then stood up, stretching her arms over her head as she rose. “Welp, guess that means it's time to get back to work. See you guys later?”  
  
“I should probably get back to the kitchen,” Monty said, brushing his hands over a shirt already covered with flour. “They'll be getting dinner ready soon.” He stepped over to join Harper but looked back at Jasper, asking his best friend, “We still going tonight?”  
  
“Definitely,” he agreed with a quick nod, and then looked down at Clarke still on the bench. “We've all got some time off later, so we thought we'd go play a couple games of dice at the Dropship. Wanna come?”  
  
Clarke thought about her bed, soft and waiting for her, but ending up nodding. “Sure. Sounds like fun.” He shot her a smile and then grimaced when Harper shot over her shoulder, “Come on Jasper, I bet Luna's got work for you too.”  
  
“You don't know that,” Clarke heard him reply even as he followed after her and Monty, “maybe she wants me to just relax as long as I can?”  
  
Clarke sat on the bench for another few minutes, just enjoying the light breeze. There was very little afternoon traffic, few people going by the house, so she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes again. She let her body relax, could feel stiffness easing out of her muscles, and seriously considered making her way up to her room and slipping into bed for a few hours of relatively undisturbed sleep. Unfortunately Wells was expecting her, the two having made plans to meet up today with her afternoon off, and knew that if she didn't show up he'd end up at The Rig, worried that something had happened to her. The few times he'd had to come to the whorehouse it had been obvious to everyone how uncomfortable he was, so Clarke tried her best to make sure he never had to come back. After another few seconds she forced herself up and then headed back inside, needing to change out of her robe and into something more suitable if she was going to make the mile walk to the inn without running into any trouble. Before long she was outside once again, now in one of her simplest dresses, and began making her way down the street.  
  
As she walked Clarke let her mind wander, only half aware of what was going on around her. The summer was already half over, which meant her mother would be in Polis before long and she'd have to stop going to the palace. She didn't look forward to it; not only would that seriously hamper her ability to locate Emerson and his lord, but it also meant she would see Lexa less. Hopefully the queen would still sneak into the city every now and then – she ignored the voice in the back of her mind telling her she shouldn't hope for that – but their time together would be seriously lessened. Now she was going to the palace once a week and Lexa was sneaking out whenever she found the opportunity to, but how often would the same opportunity present itself as life for the queen got busier and busier? With all the nobles around she'd have to spend her days and likely many of her nights with them, rebuilding their nation after years of being divided. Eventually she would have to choose a husband no matter how much Clarke could tell she didn't want to, and after the queen was married would she still have the freedom to sneak out of the palace? Clarke highly doubted it, and had to swallow thickly to push down the sudden wave of sadness she felt at the thought of not seeing the brunette ever again, or even just not knowing when she would see her again. She couldn't pinpoint when exactly, but somehow Lexa had become her friend, a friend unlike any others she had, and for reasons other than just her title. Somehow she felt as though the two of them had connected somewhere along the way, some kind of understanding growing between them neither had with anyone else. It even almost felt as if-  
  
A sudden force against her shoulder broke through her train of thought, and Clarke looked up to see a man rubbing his arm and smiling at her apologetically. His dark hair was curly and only a couple of inches long, and bright blue eyes met her own. His skin was leathery and rough after spending so much time out in the sun and the quality of his clothing told her he had money but certainly not a lot of it. A hat covered his head, the dark curls trying to spring out from beneath it, and he reached up to tip it towards her. “Apologies, miss,” he said, nodding to her, “did'na see ya there.”  
  
She returned the nod and gave him a smile as she replied, “No, I'm sorry, it was my fault. I wasn't paying attention.” He nodded again, tipped his hat a little further, and then stepped by her and they were both on their way again, Clarke making sure to pay attention to where she was walking this time.  
  
The Dropship was quieter than normal as she stepped inside, fewer people hanging around the common room at this time of day. Only three people sat around the usual dice table, the die skidding across the wooden surface as one of them rolled, and then the roller groaned while the other two grinned before one of them grabbed at them for his own roll. Three other tables were occupied, the most crowded one seating five people while the other two just sat one person each, everyone with a tankard in front of them and the largest table with food on it as well. This time both Emori and Murphy were behind the counter and Murphy scowled at her while Emori grinned as she moved over to them.  
  
“What do you want, Blake?” he asked, bored beneath his scowl and his wife rolled her eyes at him. “Don't mind him,” she told Clarke, jabbing her thumb at him, “he's just cranky today.”  
  
“Is that different from most days?” the redhead asked, her voice light, and Murphy's eyes narrowed a little as Emori laughed. “Nope,” she replied at her husband's expense, “he's always cranky. Today he's just bored as well as cranky.”  
  
“I'd offer to help with that boredom, but I'm already here to see someone and I think your wife's much better at dealing with you than I'd be,” she told him, causing Emori to let out another chuckle and him to wrinkle his nose at her. “Yeah, I'm all set,” he said, giving her a look. At that moment one of the men sitting by themselves stood up and made his way to the stairs and Murphy grabbed the cloth laying on the counter in front of him. “I have to work to do anyway,” he continued and then nodded towards the stairs. “And you do too. Don't want to keep your friend waiting.”  
  
Clarke let out a long, playful sigh. “You're right,” she replied, beginning to head towards the stairs, “you know how much he hates waiting. Wouldn't want to make him angry. I hate when men get angry and sullen; they're just so hard to reason with. Right Emori?”  
  
“All I know is angry and sullen,” she joked, giving her husband a wink. “Works for me.” They heard him grumble something under his breath and shared another grin before Clarke left, making her way over to the stairs. As she walked down the hallway of the second floor she heard a door close and didn't think anything of it, stopping only when she'd reached Wells's room. She knocked once, waited a second, and then let herself in.  
  
Wells looked up from where he'd been leaning back against the headboard of his bed, a book in his hands. Clarke met his eyes and smiled and he returned it, quickly shifting and standing to meet her. “Hello my-”  
  
Before he could get anything else out Clarke was stumbling forward, her eyes wide when she felt something large slam into her from behind. Before she could catch her footing or fall on her face a hand grabbed her roughly by the back of her dress, another arm quickly snaking across her chest and pressing against her windpipe. She hadn't heard anything a moment ago but now there were footsteps, first one set and then a moment later a second as she was shoved into the room and the door was slammed behind her. Wells's eyes widened and she saw them flick to the corner of the room where his sword was, but apparently whoever was behind her saw the same thing because suddenly the blade of a knife was pressing against her neck and she went completely still, not even swallowing.  
  
“Don't do it,” a deep voice warned behind her, the arm pressing against her windpipe tightening just a little. “Take one step and I'll cut 'er throat.” Wells froze, his eyes on first the knife and then trailing up to a face Clarke still couldn't see, and the person holding her shifted over a few steps, dragging her with him. The second set of footsteps moved forward and Clarke looked over, now able to see one of their assailants and she grit her teeth when she recognized the man who had bumped into her in the street. He also held a knife now just like his companion, but he also carried a large coil of rope with him. He approached Wells slowly, obviously taking in his fighter's physique, and ordered, “Hold out yer arms, straight like. Remember, make one wrong move and my friend'll kill yer girl.” Wells looked over to Clarke and their eyes met. She almost yelled at him not to listen but bit her tongue, knowing full well he'd never do anything that might risk her life. Just as she knew he'd do he held up his arms and didn't move as the man quickly bound his wrists together and then grabbed the knife at his belt, tucking it into his own. When he was done he cut off what rope was left and tossed it to the second man who caught it, his knife briefly leaving her neck. Clarke tried to use the moment to wriggle out of his grasp but his other arm slid down her body to pin her arms to her sides, and no matter how much she squirmed she couldn't get loose. Her fingers grasped for the knife she had hidden away in her pocket but she was pinned too tight, unable to slip her hand into the hidden opening.  
  
“Wriggly thing, ain't ya?” the man behind her mumbled, trying to get the rope around one of her wrists one handed. “Let me go!” she growled, trying to squirm harder but his grip around her got tighter and tighter until she felt like she might break in two if he held her any harder. His friend moved over to them, keeping one eye on Wells and helped him get her wrists tied together, her hands now hanging uselessly in front of her. She'd never be able to get her knife out now without drawing obvious attention at what she was doing, and she bit her lip hard as the man holding her finally let go, shoving her hard on the back and sending her stumbling across the room. Wells reached out, catching her before she could fall.  
  
“Are you okay?” he whispered, looking over her shoulder and not taking his eyes off of the two men. She nodded though wanted to tell him no, obviously she wasn't okay, but then stood up straight, turning around so she could also watch the two men. For the first time she got a good look at the one who'd grabbed her, quickly taking in his sandy blonde hair, dark eyes, and worn leathery skin that matched his friend. She'd only managed to get a brief look of him earlier, but she quickly recognized him from downstairs and realized he'd been waiting for her, somehow knowing she would show up eventually.  
  
“Sit down,” he demanded, his tone surprisingly even, and after a second she did what he'd said, her knees buckling almost against her will. Wells followed a moment later, sharp eyes watching every movement the two men made, but Clarke could barely focus on anything. Blood pounded in her ears, fear coated her throat and rose up like bile to fill her mouth, and the same thoughts kept playing over and over in her head.  
  
_They found us. He found us. How? How did he find us? He couldn't have known it was me, couldn't have recognized me. How did Emerson, how did his master, how did they find me? What did I do wrong? What happened? Who is it, how could he find me when I don't even know who he is? Who is he? How did he find me?_  
  
While she internally panicked, desperately trying to figure out how they could have possibly been caught, the two men stood on the other side of the room, muttering back and forth to each other while never fully taking their focus away from the two captives on the bed. Wells eyed them right back, not missing a thing, and when he suddenly spoke up Clarke had to bite the inside of her lip hard enough to bleed in order to make herself focus.  
  
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice loud and clear, and if she didn't know any better she'd never know he was worried. She could see the strain in his shoulders though, felt the same bite of the rope bound to her wrists that he did, and knew he was just stalling for time while they tried to think of a plan. Clarke forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down as well, knowing that if they were going to get out of this she couldn't focus on the million questions streaming through her mind in one continuous loop. The man with the hat met his eyes, an eyebrow lifting as he replied, “That's a question we won't be answerin'.”  
  
“What do you want?” Wells tried instead, now not breaking eye contact with the man with the hat. The man grinned and pointed to their wrists with his knife. “Seems clear 'nough.”  
  
“Why?” Wells asked, holding up his arms, both hands balled into fists. “And try an actual answer this time.” His tone was that of someone used to getting his way, a lesser nobleman or higher class merchant, and the two men glanced at each other. The same man looked back at them and shrugged sympathetically.  
  
“Sorry friend,” he told Wells, taking a step forward, “yer jest unlucky. Turns out ya like the wrong whore.” He looked at Clarke, a grin tugging at his lips even as he shook his head. “Looks like ya cheated the wrong man, sweetheart.”  
  
That made Clarke pause, frowning as she looked them over again. If they knew who she really was, they hid it well, and she had the feeling neither of them was a particularly good actor. That didn't mean Emerson or the man who killed her father didn't send them, but if it was the same person they'd downgraded in their killers. Bennet and Jenson had been professional mercenaries, though certainly not the smartest, but these two didn't look like any kind of mercenary she'd ever seen. Their clothing, while nice enough, had patches in it, and from what she could tell their shoulders and arms weren't built like a fighter's. They didn't carry any swords like most mercenaries either, just the daggers they each held and some rope. Not only that but they kept their distance from her and Wells, as though even tied up they might be intimidated. A real mercenary would have tied their captives' feet together as well as their wrists and truly immobilized them and wouldn't have any concern about keeping their distance. Something about this entire thing felt off, but now at least Clarke was able to ignore the mantra in her mind and actually focus on everything around her.  
  
Beside her, Wells clearly had come to the same conclusion she had that their captors had no idea who they really were. He sat up a little straighter, glared at them both, and then stuck out his chin.  
  
“I _paid_ for this whore,” he growled, eyes narrowing at the two men. The one who'd grabbed Clarke scoffed, one corner of his mouth curling up. “Shouldn'ta paid til after ya was done with 'er,” he advised, grinning as though he were telling the younger man a well-known secret. “Never pay the coin til ya got what ya wanted.” His friend let out a chuckle, brows raising in agreement as his eyes scanned her over, and Clarke held very still. She didn't know exactly what Wells was up to, but she could tell he had an idea, and would just have to play along until she caught on.  
  
“I take it I'm not getting out of this to remember that for next time,” he said, looking between the two of them, and the man with the hat shook his head while the other one just met his look. Out of the corner of her eye Clarke saw Wells look over at her, contempt written across his expression, before turning back to the two men. “At least let me get what I paid for before you kill us. If I'm dying because of her I at least deserve to get my money's worth first.” The two men looked at each other as though they were weighing their options and Clarke tried to look as terrified as she should be while internally she tried to figure out where Wells was going with this. She wracked her brain to figure it out, but still didn't have a clue by the time the two looked back over to the bed, the kind of smirks she was entirely too used to plastered across their faces. “Okay,” the man with the sandy blonde hair finally told him, “git what ya paid fer.” Clarke felt his eyes wash over her, refusing to look up to meet them as he added, “When yer done we might jest have to help ourselves too.”  
  
“Get on your knees, _whore_ ,” Wells spat, turning to glare at her, and Clarke swallowed, still letting her fear show in her expression as she quickly moved to do as he said. She made a show of glancing over at the two watching, not missing the way they both took half a step closer as she moved. When she was on her knees Wells scooted further down on the end of the bed, looking down his nose at her. For just a second something flashed in his eyes, something she immediately read as reassurance, and then the next second his left boot was nudging against her leg. “Well, get to it. You know what I like.”  
  
She made it a show. With her tied hands she pushed his shirt up a little, her lips immediately attaching to the exposed strip of skin just above the waistband of his breeches. Her hands then shifted down, cupping him briefly over the material and then trailing down the inside of his leg. The second his boot had tapped her leg she'd known exactly what he had in mind, and now she had to make sure the to men were too focused on her mouth and Wells to notice what her hands were doing.  
  
More proof that they weren't mercenaries: they hadn't patted either of them down. Sure, they'd taken Wells's dagger, but if they were really professional killers they would have known many people didn't stick to just weapons people could see. They hadn't found the knife still tucked away in her pocket, and they hadn't even bothered searching for the knife Wells always had tucked in his boot. It was a trick her father had taught him back when he was the lord's squire, and never before had Clarke been more grateful that Wells always listened to his knight-master.  
  
Wells leaned forward and bent down a little, his hands slipping between them as though he were trying to get a feel for her under her dress. Instead now her body blocked them, and while their captors watched Clarke work intently against his breeches her fingers slipped into the space between his ankle and boot, searching blindly for only a moment before she felt the tips of her fingers brush against the handle of the hidden knife. She sat up higher on her knees and let out a moan as though he'd just grabbed her beneath her dress, but in reality she tugged the knife free, as carefully as she could flipping it around. She didn't bother trying to untie herself, knowing that of the two of them Wells had the better chance of protecting them, and fumbled around until she found his hands hanging between their bodies. As carefully as she could she stuck the blade of the knife between his wrists but winced when a little pressure against the blade told her she'd unintentionally nicked him.  
  
“Yeah, just like that,” Wells groaned, adding to the show but also trying to encourage her, and she tried again, this time managing to get the blade where it needed to be without injuring him. Quickly she began sawing upward and felt the knife catch on the rope and her heart began hammering in her chest.  
  
“Hey, what're ya-” they heard behind them suddenly and one of the men stepped forward, but Clarke didn't look back to see which one. She put all her purpose into freeing Wells and let everything else drop away, leaning back enough to see. Madly she sawed at the rope, the last few twines holding on, and just as she felt a hand on her shoulder the rope snapped. Immediately Wells jumped into action, grabbing the knife from her and she curled in on herself and rolled out of the way as he slashed wildly at the man.  
  
“Fuck!” she heard one of them say and looked up from her spot on the floor to see the man who'd grabbed her holding his hand back, blood trickling down his palm. Wells stood now in a wide stance, covering her and looking back and forth between the man right in front of him and the other one. The one with the hat scrambled forward as he realized what had happened and they both held out their knives, trying to overwhelm Wells. The blonde slashed out with his knife while the one with the dark curls lunged in from the opposite direction, and Wells only just managed to catch the first strike with his own blade and then duck out of the way of the second.  
  
Clarke's fingers shook as she yanked at her dress, adrenaline coursing through her. With her wrists still tied it was almost impossible to get into her pocket but after fighting with the material for a few precious seconds her fist finally closed around the hilt of her knife. She yanked it out from its hiding spot as she clamored to her feet, quickly scanning the room and searching for any kind of advantage they could take over their captors. Her eyes caught on Wells's sword still sitting untouched, but she'd rolled the opposite way from it. The bed now stood between her and it with Wells fighting off both of the men at its end, and Clarke did the only thing she could think of. Without wasting a second she ran at the bed and heaved herself over it in a mad dash for the big weapon.  
  
Unfortunately for her the man she'd met in the streets seemed to instantly pick up on where she was going. He slashed at Wells and then as his friend followed it with his own attack he managed to get around the big man, cutting her off. Clarke managed to get her knife up just in time to block the down swing of his blade but barely had any mobility with her hands tied to give any kind of counter attack.  
  
“...don't think so,” the man muttered, no longer smiling. Sweat now beaded along his forehead, dripping into his eyes and Clarke hoped the sting would slow him down some. He took a step forward and she stepped back, just glad he wasn't choosing to go for the sword too. His knife stabbed against the air and she managed to dodge it, her own knocking it away. She immediately tried for a counter attack and jabbed with her knife, and though he caught it with his blade she got the sense that he wasn't used to fighting with daggers. He swung wildly for her shoulder and she just managed to step out of the way, but before he could bring the weapon back she struck, her knife raking down the outside of his arm.  
  
“Fuck!” he hissed from between clenched teeth but apparently knew better than to stop to see to the wound. If anything the injury only added to his energy, a new kind of fury burning in his eyes. Clarke had to think fast to avoid a stab to her neck but then as she managed to dodge it his knee suddenly caught her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbled back, trying to keep her knife up between them, but the back of her knees slammed against the bed and she lost her balance. He struck out and she fell back to avoid his knife and then she was lying back on the bed, and before she could move he fell on top of her, smacking the knife out of her hand. He let all of his weight come crashing down on her and no matter how hard she thrashed she couldn't knock him off of her.  
  
“Clarke!” she heard Wells yell but then it followed with the sound of metal clashing against metal. She managed to turn her head and saw him still fighting against the other man, the two having moved further away from the bed during their own fight. He was too busy to help her so she forced herself to turn back to the man on top of her. His springy curls were now loose, his hat having fallen off at some point during their fight, and his blue eyes were now dark with anger and what she was pretty sure was a little bit of terror. He sat back enough to lift his knife, probably to deliver what he thought would be the final blow, but as soon as she had enough space to move she rammed her knee up between his legs, smashing against the spot she knew would hurt him the most. He groaned and dropped his knife as he doubled over and she scrambled for it. The tips of her fingers just managed to brush against the handle before he grabbed at her arms, trying to force them up over her head. She squirmed beneath him, fighting against it, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the knife fall over the edge of the mattress to clatter against the floor.  
  
Neither of them could afford to think about the lost blade. He wrestled with her arms and she thrashed beneath him, trying desperately to keep them close to her. When he tried to bear more of his weight against her in the hopes of overpowering her, instead she lunged forward, her teeth clamping around his right earlobe. He howled and tried to tear his head away but she held on tighter, refusing to let go. Soon blood flooded her mouth and she almost gagged as a chunk of his ear ripped from the side of his head. She had to spit the flesh from her mouth and then shook her head as droplets of blood splashed down on her as the man above her roared in pain.  
  
“You fucking bitch!” he screamed and before Clarke could get her arms up to block him his hands were grasping around her neck, his fingers slipping in his own little droplets of blood before locking around her throat. He _squeezed_ and she croaked, fighting for breath, her bound hands grasping at one of his arms. Her fingernails dug through his shirt to bury themselves in his flesh and he hissed as she raked them down his skin but didn't let go, his thumbs pressing incessantly against her windpipe. When that didn't work she released his arm and felt her way down his chest, desperately searching for anything that would help her. Clarke's lungs screamed for air, her heart racing in her chest, and she blinked rapidly as she felt black begin to grow around the edge of her vision. She had no idea what she was looking for until the tips of her fingers hit against something hard at the man's belt, and without thinking about it she grabbed it. With a swift yank she freed the knife he'd taken from Wells and then she buried it into his side, a sharp breath punching from the man's lungs as the blade bit into his skin. His grip barely loosened and she stabbed him again, hot blood quickly pouring down the weapon to stain her fingers. He groaned again and suddenly his fingers loosened around her neck just long enough for her to draw a single painful gulp of air in before they squeezed once again.  
  
Clarke didn't know why she did it, maybe the lack of oxygen to her brain was starting to take effect, but when she yanked the knife out of his side the second time the weapon slipped from her fingers, falling to the bed. As more and more black began to seep into her vision, bright bursting lights joining it, her hands moved back up their bodies, slipping between his arms. Her fingers spread across his face and he tried to turn away from them but with their bodies so close he couldn't. She felt his lips, felt the blood from his torn ear seeping down the right side of his face, and felt his nose. Suddenly she felt his eyes and without even realizing what she was doing her thumbs pressed against them, digging themselves into the sockets. All at once fluid began to stream down her thumbs into her palms and then the hands disappeared from around her neck to claw at her wrists but the rope still binding them protected her skin. A noise filled the room, one she couldn't immediately identify with her mind still cloudy and sight not yet clear, but after a moment realized it was the man on top of her shrieking in agony. She blinked continually until her vision had cleared and then looked up to see blood and other fluid streaming from the man's eyes, the same mixture now coating her thumbs, still pressing into the sockets. Before she could make the conscious effort to move them a hand appeared at the peripheral of her vision and fingers grabbed the man's curls, wrenching him back and off of her. She looked over to see Wells now standing over the man now whimpering on the floor, his sword in one hand and dagger in the other. His own opponent lay a few feet away, a deep gash cutting him from neck to navel that continued to bleed heavily despite the fact that the man had obviously stopped breathing.  
  
“Who sent you?!” Wells demanded, leveling his sword at the man curled up on the floor, not a single ounce of mercy anywhere in his expression. When the man just continued to weep he kicked the man's side right where Clarke had stabbed him, earning another sharp cry from him. “Answer me!”  
  
“He didn't give us a name!” the man cried, huddling into himself. “Jest told us to get rid a the whore!”  
  
“Who is he?!” Wells tried again, obviously not believing him, and the man just shook his head, curling into himself even more.  
  
“Was he a noble?” Clarke croaked, her voice breaking. Speaking hurt, the force he'd used to try to strangle her affecting her vocal cords, and she had no doubt she already had some pretty impressive bruises forming. More fury washed over Wells's face from the sound of her voice and he pressed just the very tip of his sword to the man's chin. “Answer the lady's question.”  
  
“Y-Yeah, he was a noble,” he quickly agreed, nodding, “but we didn't get 'is name. We, we met 'im at the palace when we was goin' ta speak ta the, the queen.”  
  
“What did he look like?” Clarke asked, pushing herself off the bed to stand next to Wells. Her heart continued to ram against her chest, but now she knew it was from the remaining adrenaline as well as what she was hearing. Finally she might just be getting the answers she'd been looking for.  
  
“He was bald,” he answered, trying to look up at her but Clarke wasn't entirely sure he could see anymore with how much fluid was running down his face. It was hard to look at the mess that had only minutes ago been bright blue eyes but she made herself, this information too important for her to be squeamish. “Big. Had dark eyes and, and a big nose. Paid us ta watch ya fer a while, then told us ta kill ya. That's all I know!” Wells looked over to Clarke, searching for the order, and when she nodded he drew the blade of his sword across the man's throat. He gurgled for a moment, fingers grasping at his torn flesh, and then he was lying just as still as his friend.  
  
Clarke began to raise her hands to wipe at her face, mind once again whirling, when a sudden banging against the door had her heart nearly stopping in her chest, fresh terror washing over her. She scanned the room in search of something to defend herself with, and found one of the knives that had fallen to the floor during their fight not far from her feet. Quickly she bent down and grabbed it, holding it up in front of her while Wells cautiously approached the door. He looked back over at her and waited for her nod, his own fingers clenching tightly around the hilt of his sword, before he threw the door open, his weapon immediately coming up in case they were in for another attack.  
  
“What the fuck is-” Murphy growled, the scowl that had been etched into his expression morphing into surprise when he found the end of a sword only inches from his face. He glanced quickly at the man holding it, Wells not dropping the weapon yet in case this was a trap, and then looked around him, finding the mess in the room behind him. His eyes flickered over the bodies lying on the floor feet apart and the blood pooling around them, then over to Clarke, standing back near the bed with her wrists still bound but arms out in front of her, knife held up in defense. The second she recognized him she lowered the blade, the fear that had gripped her at his knock immediately washing away and being replaced with a debilitating exhaustion.  
  
“Wells, it's fine, you can put that down,” she said, dropping her arms and stumbling back until she could sit on the bed, all energy completely draining out of her. Her friend didn't listen for a second, hard eyes not looking away from the inn owner, but when Murphy didn't move or say anything he finally let his sword slowly fall down to his side. He stepped away from the door and moved over towards Clarke, keeping himself between her and Murphy the entire time.  
  
For his part, Murphy didn't say anything for a few seconds. With the sword no longer leveled with his nose he looked around the room again, taking in even more details. There were blood stains on the bedspread beneath Clarke, one particular spot where there must have been heavy bleeding and other spots where he could barely even see the small dots of red. The floor also had places where blood had fallen, nowhere as heavy as the area beneath the two obviously dead bodies, but little splashes covered the floor. Clarke met his eyes when he looked back at her and didn't look away, sure she looked just as bad as the room did. Her fingers were sticky with blood and other viscous fluid, sticky enough it was almost hard to loosen her grip around the knife she still held, and that blood continued down her hands and over the rope at her wrists. She knew it would be difficult to get all of the blood stains out of her dress, difficult enough that she might just need to burn it instead of even try, and her neck practically burned with how much it hurt. Thinking about her neck she swallowed, and then almost had it come right back up as she realized how much iron she could taste, blood coating her lips and teeth. She had to breathe through her mouth a few times to calm her stomach down, the smell of so much blood causing the same reaction.  
  
“I'll get you something to clean all this up with,” Murphy finally just said as he reached out and grabbed the doorknob. He looked back at her once more, apparently noticing her inability to swallow and added, “And I'll get you some drinks.” Without another word he turned around and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving them alone again.  
  
For a moment after the door closed they waited there in silence, each of them probably trying to process everything that had just happened. Clarke looked down at her hands, swallowing again when she saw the red coating them, and tried to turn the knife around to cut through the ropes. Wells noticed her struggle and then moved over, setting his sword on the other end of the bed. “Here my lady, let me help.” Considering how much her fingers were shaking Clarke decided not to argue, just released her grip on the knife and let him have it and sat still while he carefully cut through the bindings.  
  
Too many thoughts swirled through her mind again making it hard for her to focus, but when he stood right in front of her her eyes were drawn to his chest, finding a shallow cut running horizontally just beneath his left shoulder. Once her hands were freed she reached out with stiff fingers, pulling the material of his shirt away from it to get a better look. Blood had soaked into the fabric and stuck to his skin but she finally managed to get a good look at it. “When did this happen?”  
  
He nodded back to the man lying behind them, his once-blonde hair now almost black where blood had seeped into it. “He got a hit in before I got my sword.” Carefully he reached up and just barely ran the tip of a finger over her neck, worry bright in his eyes. “Are you okay? Did he get you anywhere else?” His eyes scanned her face, probably trying to figure out if any of the red staining her chin was her own and she grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I'm okay,” she assured him, her rough voice making that hard for even her to believe, but she forced something like a smile to try to prove it anyway. “We're both alive, that's all I care about.”  
  
“Mm,” Wells agreed, flashing her a small smile in reply, and then stepped back, looking over the two bodies again. All at once his expression settled again, brow drawn as he studied them. “How did they find us? They must have known you were here even before I did.”  
  
“I ran into him on my way over,” she told him, pointing to the man who was still curled in on himself even in death. “And I saw the other one downstairs when I got here. He said they were paid to watch me, so they must have realized I come here often and just waited for me to come back.” She forced herself to stand up, her limbs suddenly feeling as though they each weighed a hundred pounds, but she made her way over to the body of the man Wells had killed. Despite the fact that she could practically see some of his insides Wells moved up behind her, gripping his sword a little tighter as she sank down next to his body. The smell of blood and death swarmed over her, so much more powerful now that she was right next to him and her stomach rolled once again. She bit her lip hard to get it under control and then breathed through her mouth as she began rummaging through his pockets. In one she found a deck of cards and in another she found three silver pieces, probably more than the man had seen at one time ever before in his life. Grabbing the cards and the coins she dragged herself up and over to the other body, turning the second one over so she could go through his pockets too. All he had were two silver pieces and with them added to the collection she walked back over to the bed, dropping it all on its surface. She grabbed the cards and began to go through them to make sure they weren't anything more than what they looked like, and then returned them to the corpse when she confirmed they were just a set of playing cards.  
  
“They weren't professionals,” she heard Wells murmur, and turned around to see him staring at the bed, brow pulled down as he thought. He must have moved while she returned the cards because now both of the men's knives laid on the mattress beside the coins, and Clarke's laid on the other side of them. He had his own in his hand and was busy wiping it off against his pant leg as he thought. “Why would he send anything less than the best after you?”  
  
Clarke knew who the “he” was without having to ask, and shook her head. “No idea,” she just said, moving back to join him. “I'm wondering the same thing.” She reached out and picked up her own knife, wiping the little bit of blood along its blade off on a clean spot on her dress. “And why would he personally talk to these two and have Emerson deal with the real mercenaries? Or is the bald guy Emerson, and Jenson was wrong and there is no middle man?”  
  
There were too many questions and no answers for them, but at the very least they now had a description of one of the men they were looking for. Whether it was Emerson or his master didn't matter, it was a step closer than they had been an hour ago. It had only almost cost them their lives to get it.  
  
They let the silence grow between them again, each too lost in their thoughts to even know where to begin, until another knock sounded at the door. This time it didn't wait for an answer and Murphy let himself in, carrying a large basin of soapy water and a number of rags. Emori followed just behind him with two tankards in one hand and sheets and a dress draped over the opposite arm, and when she saw the state of the room her eyebrows shot up before she let out a long whistle.  
  
“You weren't kidding,” she stated, obviously speaking to her husband, “this is a mess.”  
  
“Hmf,” he grunted, setting the basin and rags down on a clean spot of the floor while she kicked the door closed behind her. “Yeah, and one that needs to get cleaned up.” He looked over at Clarke and Wells, the redhead standing up from her spot on the bed. “I take it you don't want the City Guard knowing about this?” She shook her head and he glanced back down at the two bodies, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Good, cuz that would just be even more trouble.” Turning to go back to the door he looked over his shoulder at them, telling them, “I'll have a wagon waiting by the back entrance an hour after dark. You got some place you can put 'em?”  
  
“Yes,” Wells answered for them, meeting the other man's eyes, and Murphy scanned over his expression for a second before nodding. “Good,” he just said and then left the room again, quickly closing the door behind him.  
  
“Here,” Emori said, dropping the sheets near the basin and then handing a tankard first to Wells and then to Clarke, “it looks like you could both use a drink.” They accepted the mugs with nods of thanks and Clarke downed a third of the drink in a few consecutive long gulps. The hardy ale helped to wash the taste of blood from her mouth and she closed her eyes, finally able to breathe just a little better. As they drank Emori shook out the dress she still held and then as soon as Clarke lowered the tankard she held it out to her. “You're going to need this. Your friend here doesn't look too bad but there's no way you can go anywhere in that dress.”  
  
“Thanks,” Clarke told her, reaching out to accept the dress. “I'll get it back to you soon.” She waved her hand, apparently not worried about it, and then leaned a little closer, wincing as she got a better look at the younger woman's neck. “One of 'em got you good, looks like.”  
  
“She got him better,” Wells replied for her, nodding to the man Clarke had fought. Emori followed the motion to him, actually looking at the body now where before she'd glanced over it, and paled a little bit when she saw his face. Clarke didn't look, not needing to again see what she'd done, but when Emori turned back to her she met her eyes. For a second she couldn't quite read what she saw in the older woman's expression, but then a second later she shook her head, one corner of her mouth tugging up. “Remind me not to piss you off,” she just said and Clarke shared her smile. The next moment Emori was rolling up her sleeves, telling them, “Alright, let's get this cleaned up.”  
  
They worked for hours. Emori shook out the sheets she'd brought with her and laid them out as best she could on the floor, and then Clarke and Wells rolled the bodies onto them and they all worked to wrap them up. Once the corpses were wrapped up they got to work scrubbing down the room, trying to find every drop of blood and wash it away. Before long Clarke's back ached from being bent over so long and her arms hurt from how hard she was scrubbing, but she never complained. Before they stripped the mattress she pocketed the silver pieces, and when Emori's eyebrows rose again at seeing them she slipped three of them over to the other woman, deciding she and her husband had earned them. If they'd wanted to they easily could have summoned the City Guard on them and then they would have had one more – very big – problem to deal with. Eventually the room was as clean as they could get it and Emori left, telling them she would check on how Murphy was handling things downstairs and get them a couple of fresh drinks. Outside the sun was only just starting to set, so when the other woman slipped out of the room Clarke slid down along the opposite wall to the floor, resting her head back. She closed her eyes, fully aware she should change into the dress Emori had given her, but no longer having the energy to move. Footsteps and a small thud told her that Wells had come over to join her.  
  
“We have to be more careful now,” she said suddenly, still not opening her eyes. “If he knows we're alive and they told him where we are, he could send others after us. You should find another place to stay, and we shouldn't meet anymore than we have to.”  
  
Wells was quiet for a moment and she was beginning to think maybe he had just silently agreed with her when he finally spoke up, his voice quiet. “You shouldn't go back.”  
  
“What?” she asked, eyes opening just enough to look over at him. He wasn't looking at her, just staring ahead, but she could see the purse of his lips and knew whatever he was thinking wasn't good.  
  
“You shouldn't go back,” he repeated, glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye. “To The Rig or the palace, you shouldn't go back. You need to find somewhere to hide too.”  
  
Now her eyes widened, taken aback by the suggestion. “Of course I'm going back,” she told him. “I have to. I have to keep playing my part if we're going to find him.”  
  
“It's too dangerous, Clarke,” he told her, looking more fully at her now, and just the fact that he'd used her name told her how serious he was. “If he knows you're alive and knows who you are then it isn't safe. What if he tries to attack you at one of the queen's parties?” He nodded to the wrapped up body of the man who had attacked her. “He said he met them at the palace; what's to stop him from doing away with the middleman and going after you himself? Or he could send the next killers after you when you're going to another customer. We're lucky these two attacked when you were coming to see me but we might not always be so lucky.”  
  
“Wells I can't just stop,” she insisted, turning towards him. “You talk to the servants, I talk to the nobles, and between the two of us we have to find him, eventually; that's the plan. I have to go back.”  
  
“It isn't _safe_ , Clarke,” he argued, shaking his head. “If he knows who you are then any noble you go to could be him, or could just be a trap. Finding him won't matter if he kills you as soon as you do!”  
  
“I'm not stopping now, Wells,” she told him, expression setting into a little glare. “I can't. We're too close for me to start hiding now.” He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped his jaw shut, fully aware of how stubborn she was and how he wouldn't be able to talk her out of this no matter what he said. She saw his hands curl into fists on his lap and could practically see him biting his tongue to hold back whatever he wanted to say and she eased up a little, glare softening. She knew all he cared about was her safety, knew he wouldn't be saying any of this if he wasn't afraid for her, and reached over, placing a hand over his fist. When his eyes flickered over to her she met them, telling him quietly, “I will be careful, Wells. My mom will be here soon, so it's not like I'll be able to go to many more parties at the palace anyway. That doesn't mean I'll lose contact with all the nobles, hopefully, but I will be careful. I'll talk to Luna, tell her I can't visit any customers outside of The Rig other than my nobles anymore, so that will limit my chances of getting hurt.” She squeezed his hand a little tighter, and watched as his shoulders relaxed just a little. “I can't just stop, but I can be more cautious. Trust me, I have absolutely no intention on letting this man kill me, or anyone he sends after me.”  
  
“He won't,” Wells promised her, hand uncurling and turning over to slip his fingers into the spaces between her own before squeezing her hand tightly. “I'll fight with you. Every day until we get him.”  
  
She nodded and then let her head rest against his shoulder, eyes closing again. Surviving like this – constantly on the look out, worried that anyone might be someone ready to kill her – was exhausting, but having her friend beside her made it a little more bearable, and she knew that someday soon they would finally find the man they were looking for and she'd finally get to truly rest.  
  
Her exhaustion must have hit Clarke all at once, because the next thing she knew she heard voices. One of them was Wells, her friend still next to her with his shoulder still being used as a pillow, and the other was Emori, but Clarke couldn't remember her returning to the room. She cracked her eyes open, finding the other woman placing something beside the dress still sitting on the bed. After a moment she looked over her shoulder, seeing the redhead's eyes open, and told her, “I found you an old cloak. Didn't think you'd want to be walking through the streets looking like that. Might draw some attention to yourself.” Clarke reached up, carefully padding her fingers over her neck, and winced at the slight pressure. “Thanks,” she just said and the other woman nodded.  
  
Despite how tired she still was, Clarke pushed herself up off the floor, limping tiredly over to the bed. She hadn't hurt either leg but apparently her body had decided to protest any movement at this point. Emori didn't look back as she moved towards her, just pointed to the little table beside the bed. “Brought you a couple more drinks too.” Clarke squeezed her arm in thanks and then grabbed the tankards, handing one to Wells who'd followed her up from the floor, and then no one said anything else as the two slowly downed the ale.  
  
“The wagon should be here any time,” Emori stated after a little while, glancing towards the window and sure enough when Clarke followed the look she found darkness seeping in. “Better change, and then we can get these bodies down to it.” The younger woman nodded and stiffly stripped out of her dress, letting the blood-soaked material fall to the floor, and slowly began pulling on the one Emori had given her.  
  
Once Clarke had changed and pulled the cloak on over her new dress, she and Wells moved to one of the bodies, waiting until Emori gave them the all clear to lift it, grunting beneath the weight, and carry it out of the room and towards the servants' stairs. Out in the back alley just as Murphy had promised they found a cart waiting for them, and they quickly heaved the body over its side before turning around to make the next trip. Emori stayed with them the whole time, keeping her eye out, until the second body was finally loaded and they could leave. She gave them a grin, nodding towards the cart, and told them, “Good luck. Glad it's their bodies we're getting rid of and not yours.” Clarke returned it with a tired grin of her own and then the older woman disappeared back inside her inn, closing the door behind her.  
  
“I'm taking you back,” Wells declared, moving to the front of the cart, and Clarke looked at him in surprise.  
  
“You don't need to do that,” she told him, following him, “I can get back myself. I doubt anyone else is watching right now.”  
  
“But you don't know that,” he said as he pulled himself up on the front seat and then he turned around to look down at her. “I'm going to make sure you get back alright, and then I'll take care of them.”  
  
“And then you're going to move, right?” she wanted to know, not yet getting into the cart. When he gave her another look she raised her eyebrow at him and he just sighed before nodding once.  
  
“Sure,” he agreed, but then held out his hand to her, “I'll find another inn to stay at, but I'm taking you back first and you're going to talk to Luna, tell her what happened. At least some of it.” Clarke thought about it for a second, part of her wanting to insist that the bodies be taken care of as soon as possible so there would be less of a chance that someone might see them, but her body and mind were both exhausted, enough that she wasn't entirely sure she'd even be able to walk all the way back to The Rig by herself. Finally she gave in and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her up onto the seat beside him, and then sat back as he took the reins and began to lead the horse tied to the cart out of the alley. As the wagon rolled forward she pulled her cloak further around her, clutching at the fabric of its neck to keep it closed. Neither of them said anything as they rolled into the street, a few people quickly stepping out of the cart's path, probably both too tired to. As much as Clarke knew she should probably be thinking about what had just happened and what they'd learned, instead her mind felt fuzzy, and her head kept falling forward a little before snapping back as she fought to stay awake.  
  
The crowded streets made it a long trip back to her home, but she doubted she would have gotten there any faster on foot. Finally they pulled up in front of the large building and Wells helped her get down from the cart, her legs shaky beneath her once she was again on solid ground. She looked back up at him, studying his face for a moment, before she murmured, “Good luck, and be careful.”  
  
He nodded, eyes softer than usual but no less serious. “I will be. You too. I'll find a way to send word about where I am after I get settled in a new place. We'll... we'll figure it out from there.”  
  
“We will,” she agreed, trying to give him a smile but she wasn't entirely sure she was successful. Nevertheless he returned it and then urged the horse forward, continuing down the street and she let out a long sigh before turning her attention to The Rig and beginning to make her way towards the door. Inside she found Luna at her desk as usual with Derrick just behind her, and she headed straight to them, ignoring the two guests waiting against the opposite wall.  
  
Her mistress glanced up from her books as the redhead approached, frowning when she noticed the cloak covering her. Clarke noticed Derrick shift, probably not immediately recognizing her with her hood still on, and she quickly lowered it before he could go for his sword. One hand remained up by her neck, holding the fabric closed over it so none of the bruising would show, but from the way Luna was watching her she must have known something was wrong.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” Clarke just said, not looking away from the older woman as she stopped in front of her desk. “It's important.” When Luna just lifted an eyebrow, apparently wanting more, Clarke loosened her grip on the cloak, letting it open a little more and revealing a bit of her neck, and she saw the mistress's eyes immediately widen. So did Derrick's, the big man automatically reaching for his sword, probably ready to go after whoever had done this to her, but Luna stopped him.  
  
“Derrick, I need you to work the desk for a few minutes,” she stated, not even looking at the big man. “Clarke and I need to talk.”  
  
“But-” he tried to say but Luna had already moved around the desk, lightly grabbing one of Clarke's arms as the redhead returned her grip on her cloak. “Just do as I say, Derrick, and if anyone asks she was tired and decided to go to bed. Say nothing else.”  
  
Clarke let her mistress lead her through the house and towards her own room, her exhaustion once again taking over. The idea of going to bed sounded absolutely wonderful, and she had every intention of doing just that as soon as she possibly could. Luna needed to know what had happened and they would need to talk about who she would be allowed to see in the foreseeable future, but after that all Clarke wanted to do was fall in bed and finally let herself sleep. She would take care of her injuries tomorrow and figure out what she was going to tell her friends in the morning, but for now all she wanted was to crawl into bed.  
  
She yawned as Luna pulled her into her room and shut the door behind them, the movement making her throat hurt, but at the moment she really couldn't care, sleep the only thing on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any questions or wants to talk with me about the story, feel free to message me on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

“I'm guaranteed to win the archery contest,” Evan Riddell, a son of one of the lesser lords of the Ingrona Plains bragged, tilting back his head. “I'm the best shot in all the Plains.” Philip Hyll from the Boudalan Mountains chuckled, not even trying to hide it as he took a sip from his wine glass. “Is that supposed to mean something?” he wanted to know once he'd swallowed, lifting an eyebrow, and the other lesser lord grit his teeth, his fingers curling more tightly around his own glass.  
  
“I'm sure you're a wonderful shot,” Sara Mines from the Blue Cliffs told Evan, gently pressing her hand to his arm. Everyone knew she was trying to talk her parents into a marriage with the Ingrona lord and Clarke looked down into her wine to hide a knowing look as the two smiled at each other. She was fairly sure Sara had learned that little arm trick from her and it nearly always worked to get a man's attention.  
  
Another party was well under way, and it seemed like all anyone could talk about was the queen's tournament that had been announced only days earlier. The few who weren't talking about it were busy discussing the hunt the queen would be leading in about a week and a half instead, which meant the entire Great Hall was abuzz with conversation. Clarke pretended to listen to all of it, already tired of hearing one lord after another brag about his impressive fighting skills, and did her best to spend most of her time scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who might match the description she'd been given of the man who wanted her dead. So far she'd noticed no less than eight bald men with big noses and found herself wishing a dead man could have been more specific before he died. She could name five of them, and tried to keep each of them plus the other three within her sight. Needless to say, in a crowded room where she was supposed to be paying attention to the people around her that was only so easy. As she looked around her free hand fiddled absentmindedly with the scarf she had tied around her neck, fingers twiddling with its ends.  
  
“Will you be coming to the tournament, Mistress Blake?” Philip asked suddenly and Clarke forced her attention back to the group around her, finding all eyes on her. She smiled coyly, not missing a beat before she gave a little shrug, telling him, “I'm not sure. I suppose that will depend on what I'm doing that day.” She raised her brow teasingly as she looked away and then back again, and found most of the men around her grinning and even many of the women smiling and sharing in her joke. An arm slipped around her waist and she looked over at Lady Monroe, her companion for the night once again, and returned her smile. “I think I can safely say we'd all love to have you there,” she said, a playful grin just barely hiding at the corners of her mouth. “I know I always do better with a beautiful woman cheering me on.” Clarke ducked her head exactly as she was meant to, looking up at Monroe from beneath her eyelashes. “You flatter me, my lady. I'm sure you would fight just as well without anyone cheering you on, but you know I'm always happy to do so.”  
  
The conversation continued, men arguing about which event would be the hardest with a few of the women adding their opinions in every now and then, and Clarke went quiet again. She took the moment to look around the circle, finding just about everyone excited and eager to add to the conversation, but at the back of the ring Finn stood quietly, adding nothing and just nodding along whenever anyone looked over at him. To Clarke he seemed to have become more quiet and withdrawn ever since their last talk, but since he hadn't approached her since then she'd decided not to worry about it. Keeping her distance would only help him to get over her, and as far as she was concerned that was exactly what he needed to do. With everyone distracted again she let her focus wander back out over the room, tracking down as many bald men as she could while not moving from her spot.  
  
“Clarke, would you like some more wine?” Monroe asked a few minutes later, noticing her glass was empty. The redhead smiled over at her and nodded, saying, “I'd love some, my lady.” The noblewoman held out her arm and Clarke took it, letting her lead the way to the nearest servant holding a tray of glasses. He bowed as Monroe plucked two from the tray and Clarke thanked them both before taking a small sip.  
  
“Mistress Blake?” she heard behind her and turned around to find the Second in Command of the Guard standing beside her, a light smile on his face. She wracked her brain for a quick second and then returned the smile as she remembered it. “Lincoln, right? It's nice to see you again.”  
  
He nodded, bowing a little to her, a motion no one else in the room had ever even considered doing. “It's nice to see you again too. I'm glad you've been able to make it back to the palace. You make these parties just a little more entertaining.”  
  
“That's true,” Monroe agreed beside her, hiding a smile behind her drink, and Clarke let herself blush lightly. Ignoring it she gestured to the other woman, telling Lincoln, “Lincoln, this is Lady Monroe, my companion for the evening. Lady Monroe, this is Lincoln-” She paused, brow furrowing as she realized she didn't know his last name. “Birch,” he supplied and she smiled at him, before continuing, “Lincoln Birch, the Second in Command of the Palace Guard.”  
  
“My lady,” he greeted with another, slightly more formal bow. Monroe grinned at him, saying, “Please, just call me Monroe. I've always liked it better than 'my lady'.” She made a face at the title and his brow rose a little before the corners of his mouth twitched. “Alright,” he said, “Monroe.”  
  
“I've seen you out in the courtyard, training with the Guard,” she said, “your skills are very impressive.” He ducked his head, telling her, “Thank you. I've been lucky to have some good teachers.” He looked back over the room to where many of the other young nobles were standing still and added, “I've seen you out there as well. Your sword work is excellent. I assume you'll be joining in the tournament?”  
  
Monroe nodded. “I will be,” she told him, and then grinned a little as she glanced over at the redhead still beside her. “We were just trying to convince Mistress Blake here to come to the tournament. I'm hoping she'll be there to cheer me on. I could use the luck.”  
  
Clarke returned the grin with her own, gesturing to Lincoln as she replied, “It doesn't sound like you need luck, my lady. I have every confidence in you.”  
  
She couldn't tell them there was no way she could go to the tournament; the chances of running into someone who would recognize her from her old life were far too great, so she couldn't risk it. Besides, she didn't care about fancy sword work or who could shoot more bullseyes than anyone else, all she cared about was finishing what had been started the night her father was killed.  
  
“It certainly should be interesting,” Lincoln said, his voice almost a little too polite, and Clarke could tell he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Only knights and squires would be allowed to participate but the events themselves would be sure to draw some major crowds, which probably meant he'd be working non-stop before and after it. With that many people around anything could happen, so he and the rest of the Guard would have to be constantly ready for any kind of problem. After a season where they'd already had to deal with more nobles at once than ever before, she didn't envy them that work.  
  
“Would you be up for a friendly duel sometime?” Monroe suddenly asked him, tilting her head a little to the side, and Clarke noticed Lincoln's eyes briefly widen in surprise. “Like I said, I've seen you training, and I'd love to see if I can match you.”  
  
“Me, my lady?” he asked, everything but the bit of surprise guarded in his expression. “Knights don't usually choose to test their skills against soldiers.” She shrugged, telling him, “I like to go against the best. From what I've seen, you're one of the best. Definitely more impressive than most of them.” She nodded towards the group of nobles they'd just come from and Lincoln glanced over to them, face carefully blank in the way Clarke had quickly learned to read long ago. He seemed to think about it for a second, weighing his answer, and then looked back at her and said, “I'd be honored.”  
  
“Wonderful. Maybe tomorrow? Whenever you're free.” He seemed to be studying her again, eyes scanning her face, but then he nodded once. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, “I train with the Guard mid-morning but we could go after that.” She grinned and nodded, and Clarke almost wished she could see that fight. She'd heard Monroe's stories from the war and knew how sharp her skills were, but Lincoln had the physique of a natural fighter, someone who had been doing it his entire life. One thing was for sure, it would be quite the match to see.  
  
“Monroe, Clarke,” they suddenly heard and both turned to see a couple of the people in their group gesturing towards them, trying to draw them back. Lincoln nodded his head to them, saying, “I see you're wanted, I won't keep you any longer.” He looked at Clarke, lips twitching up and the smile showing in his eyes. “I just wanted to speak with you again, tell you it's good to see you.” He then turned to Monroe, his expression just barely changing, only a hair more guarded than it had been. “And it was nice to officially meet you, Lady Monroe. I look forward to tomorrow.”  
  
“Until tomorrow,” she agreed, flashing him a smile and Clarke did the same. “It was good to see you again, Lincoln. Thank you for coming over.” He nodded and then left, quickly melting back into the crowd, and the two young women made their way back to their circle, wine glasses in hand.  
  
As soon as they'd stepped back into their spots, Philip reached over, tugging playfully on the scarf Clarke had around her neck. “We thought we'd lost you,” he joked, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “You disappear from us so easy, and we wouldn't want you getting into any trouble.” He finished with a wink and Clarke made sure to look away and then back, letting her lips twitch as though amused. Her fingers came up to smooth out her scarf, being careful not to move it too much as she replied coyly, “I'm sure I couldn't get myself into any trouble that one of you couldn't get me out of.” Many of the men around her puffed out their chests at that and she wanted to roll her eyes, just barely holding the response in. Conversation continued around her almost as though she'd never left and once again Clarke began to tune them out, eyes scanning over the room while she nodded as though she were listening.  
  
Lord Rivo, one of her bald men, stood over by the tables, speaking with a couple from the Ingrona Plains. Lord Costa and his wife were dancing, the two locked together, and two of the men she couldn't name were helping themselves to food. She couldn't immediately spot any of the others she'd been tracking throughout the evening and shifted a little where she stood to get a broader look at the room. Enough people filled the space that it was hard to see everyone, and she searched for a long moment hoping to find them. Over in the corner she saw Lexa speaking with a few nobles and for a second her gaze stopped, caught on the queen before she could force it to keep moving. Anya stood nearby, her eyes drifting almost lazily between the queen and the others around her, and Clarke found the prince a little ways away, appearing a little trapped in a conversation with his aunt and one of the lesser lords of the Blue Cliffs. Titus was talking with Lord Dante on the other side of the room and he-  
  
Clarke's shifting gaze suddenly froze, honing in on the queen's adviser. The man seemed to be focused on his conversation, but the dark-haired woman could see his eyes going over to the queen every now and then, never seeming to stay off of her for long. Between looks at the queen and acting interested in the lord beside him, she caught him scanning the room, much in the same way she had been doing, and suddenly the realization clicked into place.  
  
“Excuse me,” she murmured to Monroe, pushing her wine glass into the woman's free hand, and didn't wait for her to say anything before she was stepping out of their circle once again. She didn't look at anyone or anything other than the adviser, anger burning a hole in her chest. It made so much sense but she hadn't even considered it until this very moment, and she had to grit her teeth to keep her anger from leaking into her expression.  
  
Dante noticed her first as she approached, smiling as he broke off whatever he'd been in the middle of saying. “Mistress Blake,” he greeted happily, “it's always a pleasure to see you again.” Titus turned around, his shoulders stiffening, and from the set of the lips the feeling clearly wasn't mutual.  
  
“Lord Dante,” Clarke said, having to work to keep her tone light. “It's always an honor to see you as well.” She turned to the adviser, being careful to make sure to give him nothing less than a sweet smile. “And Lord Titus. I'm afraid we've never had much of an opportunity to talk. I was hoping we might be able to fix that. Would you do me the honor of a dance?”  
  
The adviser's expression noticeably soured, the corners of his lips curling down but only just. She thought she saw something in his eyes as he looked down his nose at her but whatever it was he hid it well, the only thing really showing being a general dislike of the suggestion.  
  
“I don't often dance, Mistress Blake,” he replied, head tilting up just a hair. She would have continued to push him into it but didn't have to as Dante lightly elbowed his arm. “My Lord Titus, when a beautiful woman asks you to dance, you dance. That's only more true when that beautiful woman is our Clarke.” He winked at her and she smiled at him but then turned back to Titus, raising her brow as she waited for him to give in. He held off for another long second, nose briefly scrunching up, but then finally nodded. “Very well,” he finally agreed and before he could say anything else Clarke took his arm, leading him to the dance floor.  
  
As they walked, Clarke slipped her hand in one of her hidden pockets, palming its contents. Fury boiled at the back of her throat and filled her chest but she made sure not to let it show on her face, just nodding and smiling to anyone who bothered to give her a look as she walked by. Titus was no happier about this than she was, walking stiffly beside her and clearly wishing he could pull his arm out of her hold but disciplined enough not to. When they reached the area where a few others were already dancing to the soft music filling the hall, Clarke released her grip on his arm and turned to face him, curtsying lightly in the process. Stiffly he nodded his head to her, as close as he would ever come to a bow she was sure, and then they moved together, one of his hands moving to her waist while one of hers settled lightly on his shoulder. Their free hands came together, and for the first time he slipped up, surprise clearly showing on his face as he felt what she'd just pressed into his palm.  
  
“That's all that was left,” she informed him lightly, doing her best to keep the polite smile on her face. “If there was more, I'm afraid they'd already spent it by the time you had them grab me.” She raised her eyebrows, continuing, “Honestly though, I think you're lucky even that was left; I'm sure that was more silver than either of those men had seen in a very long time, if ever.”  
  
Titus didn't say anything, just stared over her head, his eyes just barely narrowing, and it was all she needed to know she'd guessed right. The two silver pieces felt hot pressed between their hands, suddenly almost heavier, and she was happy to be rid of them. They danced a few steps without him looking at her and with her staring up at him, and finally she squeezed his hand tightly, her anger boiling over. He glanced down at her and she didn't try to hide, didn't stifle her fury, glaring up at him.  
  
“You almost killed an innocent man,” she murmured, her voice quiet but dangerous and something about it must have gotten the adviser's attention because he frowned, dark eyes meeting her own. “A _good_ man. You want to kill me? That's fine, you aren't the first. But if one of my friends gets hurt because of it, I will _make sure_ you pay for it.”  
  
“You realize who you're threatening,” he replied just as quietly, a warning in his tone that Clarke completely ignored. She nodded once, and said, “I do, and it doesn't matter. If you hurt someone I care about I will make sure you regret it.” They were close enough she could see his jaw clench but he didn't say anything else so neither did she, their eye contact not breaking as they stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. The second the song ended Titus dropped her hand and stepped away, immediately turning and leaving her. She doubted anyone else noticed him slip the coins in his pocket as he moved but for her part she didn't take her eyes off of him until he'd disappeared into the crowd, probably trying to put as much distance between them as possible. As the next song started up she made her way off of the dance floor, moving back in the direction of her group. A big part of her wanted to follow him, to actually make him pay for what he'd put her and Wells through and maybe even get a little bit of justice for the two men who had died, but she held herself back. The open room was far too crowded to make him pay for it all in blood, and she doubted Titus often left the palace, so she would have to let this go with just the warning. As long as he didn't try anything again, she decided him knowing she knew what he'd done was enough. From the little bit she knew about him she was relatively sure just knowing that would likely eat away at him enough as it was, and if Lexa didn't need to know about this, the better; no matter what else he was, the adviser was her father-figure, and Clarke had no desire to say or do anything that would hurt the queen.  
  
Many of the young nobles looked at her strangely as she rejoined their circle, Monroe and Philip making room for her once again. “What?” she asked lightly, doing her best to play off what had just happened, ignoring the fizzling anger she could still feel buzzing beneath her skin.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Monroe wanted to know, reaching out and placing her hand on the redhead's arm. She glanced back over Clarke's shoulder, adding, “I uh, I didn't realize you and Titus ever really... spoke.”  
  
“Oh no, Lord Titus is usually too busy to have time for someone like me,” Clarke replied, giving them her dazzling smile as she waved a hand in front of her and played the silly whore, stamping down the residual anger she felt still burning just beneath her skin. “I just thought I should greet Lord Dante and I guess Lord Titus wanted to extend that greeting. He really was too kind.”  
  
“Sure, Titus is kind,” Evan scoffed, “and my horse has wings.” He grinned as a few of them laughed at his joke, noticeably proud of himself and then took a long sip of his wine. Clarke didn't let her expression waver, making sure not to lose the dazzling smile she knew would distract them all in no time.  
  
“Well if you want more of a greeting, I'd be happy to give it to you,” Philip told her with a smirk, “and I'm sure you remember how much fun it would be.” He winked at her and she just continued to smile, not letting it grow or shrink so as not to let him think she wanted any of that kind of attention from him.  
  
“Leave her alone, Hyll,” they heard, and the young lord turned to find Finn glaring at him. Internally Clarke winced but refused to look at him, worried it would only encourage him.  
  
“What's the matter Collins, too upset she's not giving you all her attention?” Philip returned, a bite in his tone. He took a step closer to Clarke and she just stood still, worried any kind of movement would only make the whole situation worse. She was trying to decide on the best way to diffuse this before a real fight broke out when Monroe did it for her.  
  
“Well I'm tired of just standing around,” she stated, loudly enough to cut off Finn before he could say anything back. Turning to Clarke she held out her hand, giving her a lopsided grin. “You looked so beautiful dancing Mistress Blake, I'd be honored if you'd dance with me.” Clarke gave her a relieved smile, sure it must have showed in her expression but didn't care as she accepted the offered hand. “I would love to, my lady.” Monroe led her back over to the dance floor and the older woman let out an inner sigh of relief, glad to be away from all of them.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Monroe told her when they were dancing. “Philip doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut and Finn is way too easy to antagonize.” Clarke just flashed her another smile, telling her, “Don't worry about it, my lady. I deal with men like them every day.”  
  
Monroe let out a noise, something that was almost a laugh. “I'm sure you do. Still, might as well avoid it whenever you can.” All of a sudden she stepped back and twirled Clarke, catching the redhead by surprise and making her laugh, the sound genuine and a shock more to herself than the young knight. She spun her back and her hand returned to Clarke's waist, and the redhead found herself shaking her head. “You're a very good person, you know that?” she asked, meaning it as she looked at the other woman, and Monroe just grinned. “Eh, I have my moments.”  
  
For a while they danced together, the noblewoman interested more in having fun than with following the correct steps, and Clarke laughed as she followed along, letting Monroe take lead. She could almost forget about her problems while the younger woman told her jokes and stories and whirled her around, and Clarke lost track of how much time had gone by as they moved together. When someone approached them as one song ended however, her entire attention instantly shifted, and the dark-haired woman's smile softened before she even realized it.  
  
“Do you mind if I cut in?” Lexa asked elegantly, honoring Monroe with a small smile as the younger woman shook her head. “Of course not Your Majesty,” she replied and let go of Clarke, giving her a little grin before hooking her thumb behind her. “I'm going to head back over to the others, make sure Finn and Philip haven't actually started throwing any punches yet.” Clarke just nodded, barely hearing what she said, but Lexa frowned as the other woman began walking away.  
  
“Something's going on with Finn and Philip?” she asked, looking at Clarke, and the redhead shook her head. “It's nothing, Your Majesty. I'm sure they've gotten over it by now.” Lexa gave her a look as though she didn't believe her, probably guessing exactly what it was they had started to fight about, but Clarke changed the subject, not wanting to get into it. “It sounds like everyone liked the idea of the tournament. It's all anyone can talk about.”  
  
Lexa nodded as she moved closer to the younger woman, easily setting one hand against her waist and lightly grasping one of Clarke's with her other. The redhead tried not to think about how natural the queen's hand felt in her own, or how her skin tingled beneath her dress as though her palm was pressed directly against her waist.  
  
“It's made everyone happy,” Lexa agreed, briefly glancing around the room before letting her eyes drift back to Clarke. It was hard to look away, the redhead as beautiful as always in a dark blue dress that fit her just as perfectly as any other she'd seen her in and her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her necklace hung around her neck as always, the pendant resting against her chest, but today she also wore a scarf tied against her neck, the fabric a matching blue. It was tied securely so as not to move much but its ends hung freely, dangling a few inches past the knot. It wasn't quite like any style the queen had ever seen before but somehow it worked, though she thought maybe that had more to do with the woman wearing it than the scarf itself.  
  
Clarke found it equally as difficult to look away from the brunette. Tonight instead of a dress the queen wore a tunic, but it had to be the finest tunic she'd ever seen. On her legs were black hose and she wore a pair of dark brown boots over them that cut off just below her knees. The tunic was fine silk dyed a deep, dark green many shades darker than her eyes, and beneath it she wore a bronze silk shirt. A belt was strapped around her waist and her sword hung off of it, bumping lightly against her leg as they danced, and looking down at it Clarke couldn't quite hold in her smile. “Do you think we're going to be attacked, Your Majesty?” she teased. “Should I find a strong knight to hide behind?”  
  
Lexa's lips twitched, eyes catching the redhead's again and she lifted an eyebrow.  
  
“I think we both know that if we were attacked you wouldn't need to hide behind anyone,” she just said, sharing in her joke. “You are very capable of taking care of yourself.” She paused, another thought tumbling around her mind, and then couldn't keep herself from adding, “Though if you would like to hide behind me, I hope you know you are more than welcome to. I enjoy your company.”  
  
Clarke's smile softened, her heart skipping a beat or two at the words. “I enjoy your company too, Your Majesty.” She pretended not to notice how the response made Lexa's lips curl up a little further, or that her hand held a little more tightly to the redhead's.  
  
“I'm glad,” Lexa murmured, voice quiet, and for a few seconds they just danced together, entirely comfortable in their silence. It was the first moment of the evening where either of them had been able to fully relax and they reveled in it, happy to get lost in the steps of the dance and each other's presence. Finally Lexa forced her gaze away again, afraid of drawing too much attention to them with their silence, and looked over the other woman's shoulder. She glanced around and took note of a number of people pretending not to watch them as well as others genuinely focused on their own conversations, and remembered why she'd come over here originally when she found one person in particular.  
  
“Did I see you dancing with Titus earlier?” she asked, looking back at the woman in front of her, letting her surprise carry through in her tone. It was almost a rhetorical question, entirely sure of what she'd seen, but even so it was still hard for her to believe. Clarke just nodded once, a little piece of her mask slipping across her face and the queen immediately regretted the question, wanting to wipe it away again.  
  
“You did,” the redhead answered simply. “There was just something we needed to talk about.” Lexa raised an eyebrow, silently asking what that was, and Clarke gave her a slight shrug. “He thinks I'm corrupting you,” she told her, giving her a piece of the truth without telling her the whole thing. “I think he would prefer I kept my distance.”  
  
The queen frowned, coming as close to a scowl as she dared with a room full of people around them. “Titus shouldn't bother you with any of that,” she said, tone low, anger flickering at its edges. “It isn't up to him. He doesn't understand.”  
  
Clarke lightly squeezed Lexa's hand, giving her another little smile. “I know,” she replied, catching green eyes that glanced up at her, “he doesn't. Don't worry, he won't keep me from dancing with you.” Something buzzed in Lexa's chest and her mouth got a little dry, enough that she had to swallow thickly to get over it. For a moment it was difficult to draw in a breath, her chest too full to allow room for her lungs to expand, and she had to look away from the other woman's face in order to get herself back under control. Automatically she glanced down, eyes falling on the scarf again, and she seized the distraction.  
  
“This is interesting,” she stated, letting go of Clarke's hand for a moment to hover over it, “I'm not sure I've ever seen a look quite like it.” She ran the tips of her fingers over the scarf's ends as the dark-haired woman told her, “It's just something I thought I would try tonight. People seem to like it.” Lexa nodded, about to tell her how nice it looked, but just as she was about to she looked a little closer, suddenly frowning. Initially she hadn't noticed anything off about the scarf other than just how Clarke was wearing it, but now she thought she saw something peaking out from beneath it. Her fingers shifted from its ends to the scarf itself, and carefully she tugged a bit of it down to reveal more of the younger woman's neck.  
  
The queen's hand shifted half a second too quickly for Clarke to realize what she was doing in time to stop her. The moment she did she tried to keep her from seeing wait laid beneath the scarf, even got so far as grabbing her wrist to pull her hand away, but it was too late: Lexa froze in front of her, her eyes instantly wide and staring at the bit of skin she'd just exposed. Clarke froze as well, staring at the queen's face and watching as sudden fury darkened her eyes. There was no mask staring at her now, no calm or cool interest peaking at the corners of the queen's eyes, but dark fury that snapped her eyebrows up and then immediately down in a harsh glare and the ferocious sight took the dark-haired woman's breath away, her heart beating quickly now for a multitude of reasons.  
  
“What happened?” Lexa demanded, her voice low and dangerous. It felt as though her heart had stopped beating as soon as she saw the bruising, but now it pounded in her chest, blood rushing throughout her body. Her palms tingled, itching to draw her sword and make whoever had done this to her friend pay for it. The little bit of skin she had revealed was dark purple and blue, so deep it nearly matched the fabric over it, and Lexa could tell it continued beneath the scarf, likely wrapping around her neck. She could only think of one way a person could get bruised in such a way, and the idea of someone wrapping their hands or anything else around Clarke's beautiful neck made the edges of her vision begin to go black. Suddenly she remembered the first night she'd explored the city with the other woman, remembered seeing the blood on her hand and the way the redhead had shifted nervously when she saw it, and black rage rolled up her spine to pool into her limbs like molten lava. “Someone's hurting you.” The fact she hadn't seen it before this moment, hadn't done something to stop it before someone's hands ended up around that slim and beautiful neck made the queen's fury double, much of it directed at herself. “Tell me who it is, Clarke. Tell me who's hurting you, and I will make them suffer.” She gave the words as a promise to the redhead and a threat to the one who had done this, mind already whirling for a suitable punishment for this atrocity but the idea of plunging her own sword into the chest of whoever it was kept playing in her mind. She finally forced herself to look away from Clarke's neck, catching blue eyes already staring at her.  
  
Clarke shook her head even as she quickly fixed the scarf, doing her best to hide the bruising once again with fingers that shook. Silently she swore at herself as her heart raced. “No one's hurting me,” she answered, trying to keep her tone and expression even as she lied. She had a feeling the slightest unnecessary twitch would tell the brunette of her lie, so she made sure not to look away. “Really Your Majesty, it's nothing, don't worry.”  
  
“That's not nothing, Clarke,” Lexa growled furiously and the younger woman saw her eyes flash dangerously. “Someone hurt you and I want to know who. Tell me.”  
  
“It's not as bad as it looks,” Clarke tried, dropping her tone a bit to try to be more soothing. Just over the queen's shoulder she could see Titus out of the corner of her eye on the other side of the room, and she purposefully made sure not to look at him. It would kill the queen if she learned that one of the people she trusted the most had decided to disregard the law and had hired men to kill her. Quickly she spun the lie she'd given to her friends at The Rig when they demanded to know what had happened, one corner of her mouth lifting as she added, “One of my guests from a couple days ago likes to get a little rough, that's all. It wasn't unexpected.”  
  
That took the queen by surprise, her brow shooting up as she began to blink quickly. The anger in her expression didn't entirely disappear all at once, but now the surprise seemed to be overshadowing it. “I'm sorry?” she asked, “I don't...”  
  
“Some men and women pay a little extra to get a little rough,” Clarke continued, shrugging one shoulder, acting as nonchalant about it as she could. She pretended not to notice the glances they were getting, the others dancing around them hearing bits of their conversation or just staring as they wondered why the two had stopped moving. “I hadn't yet been invited to tonight's party by then, so I let them.” She let her smile grow completely, as though she were letting the queen in on a secret. “Of course when Lady Monroe did reach out, I knew it would be best to hide the evidence of that night. I already draw enough attention to myself, don't you think?”  
  
Lexa opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, biting her lip, but Clarke's gaze dropped to it. She didn't quite understand why the little motion made her breath hitch but it did, and she had to swallow once before looking back up and meeting hesitant green eyes again. “You're sure you're alright?” Lexa asked, the fury that had been in her voice slowly being replaced by quiet uncertainty. “No one's hurting you? You're safe?”  
  
The concern in the queen's voice made Clarke's throat suddenly burn and she could feel tears trying to build up at the back of her eyes. It had been a long time since anyone other than Wells had looked at her like that, had cared as much as the brunette so obviously cared, and it made it difficult for her to keep her expression even. She had to bite her tongue for a second to try to clear the emotion away, and then only when she was sure she could speak without giving anything away did she nod. “I'm sure, Your Majesty. I'm fine.” Lexa studied her face for a long moment, probably trying to read everything there, before she returned the nod. She still wasn't entirely sure how she should feel about this, how she was expected to just accept that this had happened willingly, but the last thing she wanted was to distress Clarke. She couldn't think of any reason why the younger woman would lie about something like this, why she wouldn't say anything if she truly was in danger, so decided that for now she'd do as Clarke wanted and would let it go. “Alright,” she just said, and the redhead gave her a smile.  
  
Without speaking they finally began dancing again, falling back against each other as though it were second nature. Clarke knew that entire confrontation hadn't gone unnoticed but for the moment she didn't let herself worry about it, content to just hold onto the older woman and let themselves move to the music. Lexa's hand had slipped back into hers and now she seemed to hold it a little tighter, and no matter what she'd said Clarke knew she wasn't yet entirely over what she'd just seen. To try to reassure her the redhead squeezed her hand and flashed the queen a small smile when she looked over to meet her eyes, and after a second Lexa's lips mirrored the movement. They kept dancing in silence, each letting the other woman's presence calm them, and all but forgot about everyone else in the room.  
  
One song had ended and another had begun by the time Clarke was able to force her gaze away from the queen, knowing they had to have an audience watching them by this point. She scanned the room over the brunette's shoulder, not expecting to find anything nearly as interesting as the queen but knowing it would look better to anyone watching, but then nearly jumped when she saw an unexpected but familiar face talking with the prince across the room.  
  
“L-Lord Miller?” she nearly gasped out loud, feeling her stomach suddenly drop, and in front of her one of Lexa's eyebrows twitched up before she glanced over her shoulder.  
  
“Yes. He and his party arrived a couple of days ago,” she informed her, looking over at the lesser lord with very little interest. “He brought word that the rest of the Arkadian nobles should be here within the week, probably sooner now.” She shifted her focus back over to Clarke, finding the younger woman still staring at the lord, shock obvious in her expression. Gesturing back a little, she asked, “Would you like me to introduce you? I should go over and greet him anyway, so I'd be happy to.”  
  
“No,” Clarke answered almost a little too quickly. She made herself look back at the queen, doing her best to keep the way her heart was now pounding against her chest from her expression, and forced an apologetic smile. “No, thank you Your Majesty. I should honestly be getting back to Lady Monroe now.” She stepped back, releasing her hold on the brunette, and fell into the customary curtsy. “Thank you for another lovely dance; as always, you honor me.”  
  
“It was my pleasure,” Lexa replied, giving the other woman an odd look before wiping it away as though it had never been there. She nodded solemnly, telling her, “It is always a delight, getting to see and dance with you, Clarke.” Her own name on the queen's tongue managed to break Clarke's panic for a millisecond, her smile warming as she looked at the other woman, but then she was turning around and making her way back over to the corner of the room where Monroe and their group was, thankfully on the other side of the room from Lord Miller, and that panic set back in again.  
  
Seeing Diana Sydney had been one thing; the other woman hadn't seen her since she was a young girl, there was absolutely no reason she might recognize her. Seeing either of the Millers was an entirely other thing. Lord Miller and his son had been two of the last people to see her and her father alive, and after five consecutive days spent together it was entirely possible either one might see her and know who she was. It was also entirely possible they might not – after all, seven years was a long time to be dead, and it wasn't like they'd known her particularly well before her week at their fief – but even just the possibility they might see her and recognize her had her heart ramming against her ribcage. She needed to leave before either of them could spot her, which meant she had to get out _now_.  
  
Roughly the same group of nobles stood in a circle where she had left them, only a few notable absences, one of them being Finn. She assumed he and Philip must have gotten into it and he had left, but didn't have the freedom to wonder what exactly had happened. She had to come up with a plan to leave and fast, but couldn't just go without her night's companion. Quickly she made a decision and then moved up behind Monroe, pressing her front to the younger woman's back and wrapping her arms lightly around her waist. She felt the knight jump slightly, surprised by her sudden appearance and bold move, but then saw her smirk over her shoulder at her.  
  
“Hi,” she just said, lifting an eyebrow at the redhead. “Did you have a nice dance with the queen?” Clarke nodded, making sure to give her her best coy smile, and then replied, “I did, but I'm afraid I'm a little tired now. I'm thinking someone should take me back to her bed so I can... rest.” She finished by biting her lip, giving Monroe a very specific look that she'd seen countless whores use before and like with every one of them it worked, the other woman's eyes widening quickly before her smirk just grew. She turned around and stepped out of Clarke's arms, taking one of her hands and lifting it to her lips.  
  
“I would hate to keep you waiting when you're tired,” she joked and then brushed the back of the redhead's hand with her lips. Behind her Clarke could see a number of the others giving the two of them looks, some shocked at how blatant they were being and others showing nothing but jealousy with their scowls. She ignored all of them, too preoccupied with getting out of there to bother with thinking about what anyone might say later. Monroe stood up a little straighter and then began looking around the room, telling her, “I just have one thing I need to do before we go. I promised my father I would talk to him about attending tomorrow's council meeting with him and I won't hear the end of it if I don't.” She made a face, her thoughts about that clear, and Clarke smiled.  
  
“Go,” she agreed, nodding, “I think I'll wait for you in the hall. It's feeling a little stuffy in here.” Monroe gave her a partial grin and returned the nod before stepping away from the group and beginning the search for her father.  
  
Clarke didn't wait a second longer; the moment Monroe started moving, so did she, trying her best to keep her head down as she began making her way through the room and towards the hallway. Every person she passed she worried might be one of the Millers so she kept her eyes down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. As she went she reached up and carefully undid the clasp of her necklace, letting the pendant and chain pool in her palm before she slipped it into a pocket. Before her death she'd worn it every day since her tenth birthday when her parents had given it to her, and it hadn't been any different those few days she'd been at the Miller fief. Even if neither of them recognized her they might the necklace and its unique stone, so she hid it away just as she tried to keep her face down.  
  
She'd just managed to step through the doorway into the hall when footsteps hurried up behind her, and then she felt a hand grasp her arm and begin pulling her further down the hall at a quick trot. For the flash of a second her heart stopped, fear creeping up her spine at the thought that maybe Titus had had someone watching her at the party and was about to finish what he had started, but then she looked ahead at the person pulling her and recognized Finn in the flickering firelight of the torches lining the hallway.  
  
“My lord, what-” she began, but he cut her off, shaking his head sharply.  
  
“Come on,” he just said, his grip tightening a little around her wrist. “Keep going.” She didn't like the way he seemed to be looking around him, as though worried they might be followed, and tugged against his hold. “No Finn, stop. Stop!” Despite his firm grip she managed to yank her arm away from him, and as soon as she was free she immediately stopped, forcing him to turn around.  
  
“Please Clarke, come on!” he begged, glancing wildly past her, obviously expecting to see someone and she shook her head.  
  
“What are you doing?” she wanted to know, giving him a look. “You know I'm with Lady Monroe tonight, where are you trying to take me?”  
  
The name of the noblewoman made him glare, his eyes making their way back to her. “You don't have to go with her, Clarke. It's okay, I have a plan.”  
  
“A plan for what?” she asked, almost afraid to know the answer, and that fear grew as he took a step closer to her, taking her hands.  
  
“Us,” he told her, hopeful eyes scanning her face. “A plan for us. I figured out how we can be together. I just need to get you pregnant.”  
  
That made her yank her hands back, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline as they rose in surprise, and her jaw dropped open before she could stop it. She just started shaking her head, not even sure where to begin with that, but he kept meeting her eyes and nodding.  
  
“It would work, Clarke,” he insisted, taking another step closer and she subconsciously took a step back. “Think about it. If you're pregnant my father would give in, would _have_ to let me see you! I wouldn't abandon my child, abandon _you_. You wouldn't have to be a whore anymore, you could come back to the Forest with me at the end of the summer. We could be together.”  
  
“I...” Clarke began, still trying to wrap her head around it all, and then she got out the first thought that managed to fully form. “Even with a child, you know your father would never let you marry me.”  
  
Guilt flashed across his face, noticeable even in the dim torchlight, and she saw him look away and then back again. “No, we couldn't get married, but you could still be mine. I'd take care of you, Clarke, you and the child. Whoever I do marry, they wouldn't mean nearly as much to me as you do.”  
  
“You want me to be your mistress?” Clarke asked, fully and completely appalled. Anger began to boil in her gut, slowly at first, but she could feel it quickly growing. “So instead of anyone's whore, I'd just be your whore, is that it? You want to give me a baby so that your father will let you keep me all to yourself?”  
  
He flinched, stung by an accusation she knew was right. “It's not like that, Clarke,” he tried, something like a whine building at the back of his tone. “I love you.”  
  
“Then you're an idiot,” she told him, her voice hard and unwavering. “I'm a whore, Finn; you paid me to come here and then go back to your room with you, but that's all it ever was. I don't belong to you or anyone else, and I certainly have no intention of becoming a mother to your child.”  
  
“You don't mean that,” he said as he shook his head. His expression fell a little, obviously hurt, but Clarke couldn't find it in herself to care.  
  
“Yes I do,” she replied. “You don't get to make this decision for me. Gods Finn, what were you even _thinking_? Did you really think I'd just go with you? I have a life here in Polis, I'm not going to just leave it all so you can keep your toy for yourself!”  
  
“You have a whore's life,” he reminded her, voice rising just a little and she could see his brow slowly turning down. “What's so good about it? You go from person to person, doing whatever they tell you to do. With me you wouldn't have to do that anymore. We could be together. You'd be safe, I'd keep you safe, and we could be happy. We could start with just the one child, but then we could have more. We could be a family, Clarke.”  
  
Every word he said just baffled her more and more, and soon she was shaking her head slowly, unable to believe what he was saying. His eyes were big and round, pleading with her to understand and to agree to it all, and she honestly wondered how he could be foolish enough to truly believe in this fantasy he'd created in his head. “You want me to come back with you to a place where all I would be is your whore. You want to bury your cock in me over and over until I start popping out children for you, and then when your father tells you to you'll marry some noblewoman and start another family.” She spat the words out, knowing it was exactly what would happen, and grit her jaw. “What would your wife think of me?”  
  
“It doesn't matter,” he insisted, taking another step, this time reaching out and grabbing her hand, and when she tried to pull it away he refused to let go. “All that matters is that we're together. I love you, Clarke, and I know you could love me too. Let me take you away from all of this, save you. I want you, Clarke. I want you to be mine.”  
  
“I don't need saving, Finn,” she nearly growled, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying more. In the torchlight he had a half-crazed look in his eyes and it might have scared her if she hadn't spent the last seven years of her life tracking down trained killers after seeing her father murdered in front of her. Compared to Jenson and Bennet, to watching her father's head roll away from his body, this romantic, idealistic lordling was nothing. She tried to twist her arm out of his hold but his fingers dug tighter into her skin and she had to take a deep breath to hold in her anger. “Let go, please. Lady Monroe will be here any moment, and I'd rather she didn't see this.”  
  
“She's not good enough for you!” he exclaimed, now full-on glaring at her. “None of them are. _I'm_ the son of the head lord of the Glowing Forest; I'm the best you could ever possibly get. You can't seriously be turning this down.”  
  
Clarke bit her tongue to keep herself from telling him he had no idea who he was talking to, that he was only a third son when she was her household's heir. Instead she managed to get out with some sense of tact, “I understand you weren't expecting this answer, but yes I am. I have no interest in going with you to the Forest, no interest in having your children. I'm sorry Finn, but I have no interest in you.”  
  
Pain and anger flashed across his face, the mask she and Lexa had both developed years ago something he apparently had never needed himself. Rather than let go and move away he just stepped even closer, and when Clarke followed the shift back she felt her back hit up against a stone wall. Her heart beat quickly in her chest, suddenly feeling trapped, and her free hand fell to her pocket, immediately slipping inside to curl around her knife. Even just threatening him with it would get her into more trouble than she would be in if anyone knew about the people she had killed in the past few weeks, but she refused to just stand there and let him do whatever he wanted to her. She wanted to believe that even in anger he would never hurt her, wanted to believe deep down he genuinely was the decent guy she'd thought he was, but she'd seen too many horrible things in the world to blindly trust that hope. She held the knife so tightly she could feel the grooves of the leather wrapped around the hilt against her palm, and waited, hoping she wouldn't have to bring it out.  
  
“You can't-” he began, about to try to move even closer and force her to draw the weapon, when a set of footsteps suddenly stopped only yards away from them.  
  
“Hey!” a voice called and Finn jumped, turning to look at the person who had interrupted and Clarke winced, quickly looking the other way. She recognized the voice and swore under her breath as she tried to obscure her face. “Take your hands off her!”  
  
“This isn't, isn't any of your business, Miller,” Finn grumbled, looking at and then away from the young man walking towards them. Clarke kept her face turned away as he approached, desperately wishing it had been anyone else who had found them.  
  
“I'm making it my business,” the new man responded, and Clarke could hear the subtle warning in his voice. Apparently Finn could too, because almost against his will his grip loosened just a bit on her wrist. “The woman clearly doesn't want you near her. Step back.”  
  
Finn hesitated a moment, probably wondering if he could get away with ignoring the other man, but then did as he'd ordered, releasing her arm entirely and putting a little bit of space between them. He glanced back at Clarke and she met his eyes, seeing the pain still evident on his face. “I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I just wanted us to be together.”  
  
“I know,” she told him, keeping her voice soft, more to try to keep Miller from recognizing it than for his benefit. “But we can't be. I'm sorry.” She wasn't really, would absolutely have used her knife to get out of the situation if Miller hadn't shown up, but the lie made a small bit of his hurt shift away, and if it would get him to leave her alone then the lie was worth it. Finn scanned her face for another few seconds, maybe looking for something he wasn't going to find or just wanting to make sure he'd never forget any detail, and then quickly turned away, not even acknowledging Miller as he made his way back to the Great Hall.  
  
Clarke didn't wait and let there be a chance her face might be seen; as soon as Finn had disappeared she fell into a curtsy, letting her head fall forward. Her hair fell over her shoulders, helping to mask her face even more. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice a little low. “I appreciate your help.”  
  
“Of course,” Miller replied, taking a couple of steps towards her, and Clarke ducked her head a little bit more. “Did he hurt you at all?”  
  
“No, my lord,” she just answered, not offering anymore. She prayed he would just nod and then be on his way, hopefully back to the party, but apparently the gods weren't in the mood to answer her prayers. Instead a hand suddenly appeared in her vision, clearly meant for her to take, and she internally winced before beginning to stand up out of the curtsy.  
  
“I'm Nathan,” he told her, and out of her periphery she could see him giving her a small, polite smile. “Nathan Miller. You are...?”  
  
“Blake, my lord,” she informed him, reaching out and grasping his inner arm as she knew he expected, “just Mistress Blake. You honor me with your kindness.” She had to look up now or risk looking more suspicious by avoiding eye contact, and did so, finally seeing a face she had only known for a few days but could recognize even in the poor lighting. He continued to smile politely at her and she just hoped her face wasn't as recognizable.  
  
“I was just doing what any decent person would do,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know Finn very well, but he shouldn't have scared you like that. Are you sure you're not hurt?”  
  
“I'm sure, my lord,” she promised, letting him think she'd been scared and that was why she let her hair hang in her face. Likely he was thinking she was afraid he would act similarly to the other noble, and that worked for her. She could feel him studying her for a moment and her heart stopped, afraid she might have been recognized, when he suddenly gestured back towards the Great Hall. “Can I escort you back to the party?” he just asked, and she shook her head, letting out a silent sigh of relief. For now it seemed she was safe, so she replied lightly, “Thank you but no, my lord. I'm waiting for a friend.” Another pair of footsteps made their way towards them and she looked past him, breathing an inner sigh of relief as she recognized Monroe heading their way. “Here she is now. Again, thank you my lord, but I'm fine now.”  
  
“Alright,” he told her, nodding once as he looked her over again. She looked away, playing at the shy commoner around someone of higher birth, and when Monroe passed him he gave her another nod as he began to turn around. “Good night, Mistress Blake. I'm glad you're alright.”  
  
“Good night, my lord,” she replied, “thank you again for your help.” He flashed her another smile and then began making his way back down the hall and she all but slumped against the wall, breathing out a sigh of relief.  
  
“Is everything alright Clarke?” Monroe asked, giving her a look as she moved up next to her. The redhead managed a nod and then pushed herself back up, giving the noblewoman a smile. “I am now, my lady. Are you ready?”  
  
“I am,” she agreed, holding out her arm and Clarke took it, leaning a little heavily against her shoulder. Monroe's lips quirked up into a little smirk, adding, “If I remember correctly, you were tired and in need of a bed.” The older woman shared her smirk, letting her eyebrows rise as she told her, “I am. Would you happen to know of one I might fall into?”  
  
“I think I do,” Monroe said, giving her a wink, and began leading the two women towards the palace entrance. “I admit, I hope you're not too tired though. I was thinking of one or two things we could do in that bed if you're not.” Clarke chuckled and then batted her eyelashes, looking up through them as she replied, “I think you'll be able to persuade me.”  
  
As they walked down the hall Clarke smiled and laughed, giving Monroe her undivided attention, but beneath the surface her heart continued to beat rapidly, anxiety filling her gut. That had all been too close, far too close, and she couldn't let it happen again. Luck alone had managed to help her keep her secret, and she couldn't let herself count on it again. With the Millers in Polis and the impending arrival of her family, she knew one thing was for sure: her time in the palace was officially over.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Bellamy's sister shifted in her saddle beside him for the third time in the past half hour, and he rolled his eyes. “O would you knock it off? You're starting to drive me crazy.”  
  
“What?” the brunette demanded, shooting a look over at him, “I'm not doing anything!” Beneath her Charger, her sleek black gelding who had just as much energy as she did, snorted, tossing his own look up at the young man.  
  
“Quit moving so much,” he told her, fully aware she knew exactly what she was doing. “We've only been going for a few hours, you can't be _that_ bored.”  
  
Behind them Bellamy heard a snort, and he turned to find their friend Raven riding a few feet back and between their mounts. When she saw him look at her she raised an eyebrow, grinning at him. “Come on Bellamy, you know your sister better than that. Of _course_ she's bored, we've been riding through trees for days; she's barely been able to run Charger since we left the Hills.”  
  
“She's right,” another voice piped up, and the young soldier looked over to see the young lady of Arkadia riding beside Raven. Madi's grin nearly matched their friend's, her dark blue eyes shining as she added, “Octavia always gets antsy when she can't run, and she's barely been able to get any training in for a while either. I'm surprised she hasn't entirely lost it yet.”  
  
“I'm holding onto my sanity just for you, Madi,” Octavia joked, looking back over to the girl with her own grin. “Otherwise you're right, I probably would have disappeared into these trees by now.”  
  
“Please, you'd love to disappear in the trees,” Raven told her with a roll of her eyes. “Think of all the trouble you could get in when no one could see you.”  
  
“Like you wouldn't be getting into the same trouble,” the other brunette shot right back and Bellamy looked up, once again silently asking the gods how he had gotten stuck with them. He loved his sister and Raven more than just about anything, but there was no question they often pushed him to the edge of his patience.  
  
“How about nobody gets into any trouble?” a new voice suggested, and they all turned together to see Lady Abby riding up behind Raven and her daughter, apparently having caught the end of their conversation. She gave them the look they all knew far too well by now, that amused but also somewhat of a warning look, and they all grinned back at her. Her eyebrows rose a little higher, looking over them again as she added, “And when we get to the city, let's all _really_ stay out of trouble.”  
  
“Whatever you say Abby,” Raven replied with a mock salute, and Bellamy noticed that the noblewoman just shook her head a little, a smile tugging at her lips. Any other noble might consider the response insolent, but not the head of the Griffin household; Abby was well known among her servants for being the most down-to-earth noble out there, and she had easily passed that onto her daughter. Bellamy owed the Griffins his life and his sister's life so he would always do whatever it took to protect them, but it was easy to be loyal to people who so truly earned it.  
  
“Lady Abby,” someone called further back in their train and the woman nodded to them before slowing her horse down and turning, and Bellamy pulled his attention to the front of their caravan once again. Two dozen soldiers were stretched out along the well-used trail, Abby and the other nobles safely in the middle of them all, and the young man found himself peering into the trees, feeling his sword bounce lightly against his thigh. He didn't expect any trouble now that they were only an hour or so outside of the city but that didn't mean he could let his attention waver, his focus always on the ladies' safety first and foremost. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Octavia scanning the woods as well, just as alert for any danger.  
  
For a while they rode in silence, just the sounds of the breeze blowing through the leaves and birds calling to each other interrupting the steady beat of countless hooves plodding along on a worn road. They were easy sounds to get lost in, a rhythm in each one, and for a while Bellamy found himself entirely too caught up in them as their party continued along. Finally however the birds' songs began to dim a little as the trees thinned, and soon they could hear the dull roar of what had to be the city ahead. “Here we go,” he mumbled under his breath, sitting up a little taller in his saddle, and followed the soldiers in front of him out of the trees.  
  
They road through a big gate already hanging open, and as soon as they did Bellamy's eyes widened, instantly amazed at what he found before him. The village he'd spent his childhood in had been small, certainly no more than a few hundred people there if even that, and then moving into the Griffin estate he'd found another style of living, but neither were quite like the city. In just one look he thought maybe he'd seen more people in Polis than he ever had in his little village, and the people in the city didn't seem to have any time to stand still. Men and women shouted over each other as children screamed, as much in laughter as in tears, while dogs barked whenever anyone got too close to them. There was a general mayhem that buzzed through the streets that made it difficult to even think and the soldiers at the edge of their train shifted in a little, drawing closer to the nobles at its center. Apparently the people of Polis were used to nobles riding through their streets though because as Bellamy watched most of them barely spared a glance at the soldiers on horseback, even fewer trying to see through them towards those at its center. Nevertheless Bellamy guided his horse closer to the nobles, too cautious to fully trust in the crowd's disinterest.  
  
“Amazing,” he heard someone say behind him and immediately recognized the voice of Lord Marcus Kane. He was one of the lesser lords of the Arkadian Hills and one of Abby's good friends, which meant he'd been to the Griffin estate more and more over the past couple of years. Everyone knew he was trying to court Lady Griffin but few people ever talked much about it, the lady having yet to show more than mild interest in the man publicly. Bellamy and his friends could see there was a little more to it than Abby purposefully let show, had all seen her open up a little more over the past two years and they all attributed it to the nobleman. He would never be Jake, never be able to stand up to the lady's first husband, but if he made Abby happy then that was good enough for Bellamy.  
  
“It is remarkable,” Lord Thelonius Jaha agreed, his voice also a bit light with awe. The two noblemen rode on either side of Abby, with Madi and her mare tucked between her mother and Jaha. Bellamy was glad to see the two ladies between them: if anything did happen, at least any enemies would have to get through the two noblemen, both trained knights, before they would reach Abby or her daughter.  
  
A touch of awe showed through on Abby's face as well, but she seemed more focused on the crowds than the city itself. Bellamy saw her probably subconsciously nudge her horse a little closer to Madi's and knew the number of people made her uncomfortable. For her part the young lady stared openly around her, eyes wide and jaw hanging just a little open, and Bellamy had to bite back a grin. “Lady Madi, you're staring,” he teased lightly and she looked away from the many people roaming the city just long enough to stick her tongue out at him. He shook his head as his grin grew and then made himself focus again, turning back around in his saddle, eyes constantly scanning around them as their party slowly made its way down the long streets.  
  
The crowd began to thin the closer they got to the palace. The city surrounded the great building but the palace itself sat up away from the city, just barely disconnected from it. The wide-eyed stares from many in the train didn't disappear, if anything only grew, as they made their way towards it. Another large gate similar to the one that separated the forest from the city stood in front of it, already open and slowly they made their way through.  
  
As their horses came to a stop a man walked up to them, dressed in what Bellamy assumed had to be the Palace Guard uniform. Even looking down at him on horseback the man was an impressive size, tall and well-built with the frame of a fighter. His skin was dark and his head shaven, just a fine stubble covering his jaw as though he hadn't cared to shave that morning. A sword hung from his belt and Bellamy had no doubt he knew how to use it.  
  
“Hello,” he greeted them with a nod, scanning over the group until his eyes stuck on Abby. Clearly he read her as the leader of their party because once he saw her he didn't look away, bowing politely to her. “You must be Lady Abigail Griffin of the Arkadian Hills.”  
  
Abby's eyebrows rose a little, surprised to have been recognized so quickly by someone she'd never met before. “We must be the last ones here if you can tell that so easily.” One of the Arkadian soldiers moved over to her and she took his offered hand before slipping from her saddle. Bellamy followed right behind her, moving to stand by his lady with Octavia shifting right behind him. Lords Kane and Jaha followed Abby and took their place beside her, and the man turned his bow to them.  
  
“My lords,” he added, nodding to them, and then looked over to Abby as he stood back up. “I just knew Her Majesty was expecting you soon, my lady. I'm Lieutenant Lincoln Birch, Second in Command of the Palace Guard.” He shifted a little, gesturing back to the palace behind him and told her, “If you aren't too tired from your trip, I would be happy to take you to the queen; I know she would love to welcome you to Polis.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Bellamy saw Abby glance over them, uncertainty flashing briefly across her face, probably trying to decide if they were dressed well enough to see the queen. She must have decided it would be better to meet her in travel-worn clothes than put it off and risk offending her because after a moment she nodded. The lady smiled politely at the lieutenant and replied, “We would appreciate that, thank you.” He returned the nod but before he could go anywhere the lady turned to the rest of their party, calling loudly, “Wait here; we'll be back as soon as we can.” She looked behind her at the captain of her own guard, a hard woman named Bryne, and nodded, and the woman stepped forward, quickly taking her place just behind her. Abby then turned to look at Bellamy, Octavia and Raven and nodded to them too. “I'd like you to come with us too.” They all nodded and Bellamy fell into place behind Madi, the girl moving to stand with her mother. As soon as they were all ready Abby turned back to Lincoln and gestured for him to lead the way.  
  
If Bellamy wasn't always worried about something happening to Abby or Madi if he wasn't paying attention, he would have been in awe of the palace as they made their way through it. Sunlight streamed in from large windows, lighting their way, while unlit torches lined the walls. Tapestries hung along the walls the further they went, bright colors against stone fitted together so perfectly it was hard to believe each wall wasn't one large slab that were then just pieced together. Servants walked by them, immediately recognizing Abby and the two men beside her as nobles, bowing or curtsying quickly before returning to their work. Guards stood spaced out along the halls, each nodding to Lincoln as he passed but otherwise ignoring the party, their duty to keep them safe rather than prostrate at their feet. Bellamy couldn't quite believe the size of the building they walked through, and knew anyone looking at him would be able to see how impressed he was. Whenever he glanced at those he walked with he found the same look on their faces too.  
  
The Guardsman brought them to a stop in the middle of one hall, looking into a room whose door hung open. He bowed as soon as he stopped in front of it, saying evenly, “Your Majesty, Lady Griffin has arrived. I've brought her and her party to see you.”  
  
“Thank you, Lincoln,” Bellamy heard before he could see who had said it, but only a few seconds later a young woman emerged from the room, one that he immediately recognized. He'd barely interacted with her the short time she'd been in Arkadia when trying to bring the Kongeda back together, but he doubted anyone that met Queen Alexandria could ever forget her. Today her long brown hair hung down her back, little braids twisting throughout it, and rather than a dress she wore a dark gray silk tunic over black breeches. There was a sword attached to her hip and for a second he wondered if she knew how to use it, but when he glanced back up his doubt washed away: she had the cool look of someone who learned everything possible, and he doubted sword work stood outside of that learning.  
  
Along with the rest of their group, Bellamy fell into a deep bow, the only way to greet the queen of the Kongeda. Abby and Madi's skirts swept lightly against the floor as they curtsied, but Bryne, Octavia and Raven were all in breeches so they too bowed along with the men. Bellamy waited to rise until the nobles all had, and then once he was straight again he noticed another woman had appeared from the room the queen had been in, dressed in much the same way as her. This woman's dark blonde hair looked almost messy, its own braids managing to pull it out of her face, and she looked their group over with hard eyes. She also carried a sword, but Bellamy didn't question for a second whether she knew how to use it.  
  
“Lady Abigail,” the queen greeted, taking another step forward and holding out her arms a little in welcome, “Lady Madelaine. Lords Kane and Jaha; welcome to Polis. I trust you had a safe trip?”  
  
“We did, Your Majesty,” Abby told her. “We were lucky and didn't have any problems.” She sunk into another small curtsy, bowing her head a little. “I'd like to apologize for being here so late; I'm sure we're the last ones to arrive, and that's my fault. Traveling... I don't travel well, I'm afraid.”  
  
Everyone standing around Abby knew why it was she hated traveling, why she had barely left the Griffin estate at all in the past seven years, but no one wanted to think about it. They all spent as little time thinking about it as they possibly could.  
  
It seemed the queen knew as well, the cool confidence that had been in her expression a moment ago shifting slightly, understanding flashing across green eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. I understand, and I'm sorry to have made you travel at all.” She looked over at the woman standing behind her, making a little gesture, and then the other woman walked towards the end of the hall, stopping when a servant quickly moved over to her. The queen looked back at their group as she went, telling them, “In fact, I've taken the liberty to have some rooms prepared for you here, Lady Abigail, for you and your daughter. There is also room for a couple of your personal attendants. It's my wish to make you as comfortable as possible in my home.” She then looked over to Kane and Jaha, nodding to them before adding, “I've set up rooms for the rest of your party at one of the local inns, somewhere where I think you will all be equally as comfortable.”  
  
Surprise sparked along Abby's expression, her eyebrows rising momentarily before she could stop the automatic reaction. Clearly she hadn't been expecting the invitation and for a second was lost for words. “I... Thank you, Your Majesty, we're honored. Of course we'll accept.” Madi nodded beside her mother, ever the well brought up heiress, and the queen gave them a small smile.  
  
“Wonderful,” she replied, and as she spoke the woman who had walked away returned, two servants trailing behind her. The queen gestured towards them without turning around, telling them, “Lady Anya and Lincoln will show your people where the rooms are, and we'll have some servants help unload your things from the wagons and bring them inside.” The woman – Lady Anya, Bellamy assumed – didn't looked pleased by the statement but didn't say anything. “While they do that I would be happy to give you a tour of the palace.”  
  
“Thank you, Your Majesty, Lady Anya,” Abby told them, looking to each in turn, “and Lieutenant Birch; I appreciate it.” She then turned to Bryne, Bellamy, Octavia and Raven. “Go with them and help with the bags, please. You can tell our people that the queen has graciously offered rooms to us here, but assure them I'll make sure the rest of them get set up comfortably in the city.”  
  
“Yes my lady,” Bellamy answered for them, bowing politely to her. It took an extra second for Raven and Octavia to follow along, none of them quite used to this level of formality. Out of the corner of his eye Bellamy saw the corners of Bryne's lips turn down as she also bowed, obviously as unhappy with leaving them as Lady Anya was, something that he understood all too well. He didn't like the idea of leaving the ladies on their own, but decided they should be safe enough in a palace full of Guards and two noble knights with them. Abby nodded to them and then they turned around, all making their way back in the direction they'd just come from, Lady Anya, Lincoln and the two servants following behind them.  
  
Back outside, Bryne went over to inform everyone what was going on while the rest of them headed to the wagons. Bellamy climbed up inside and began going through the bags, tossing down the ones that belonged to the two ladies and themselves for Octavia and Raven to catch. The servants then took them, quickly filling their arms, and when they had all they could carry they headed back into the castle and the two young women started grabbing what was left.  
  
“Didn't think we'd be staying in the palace,” Raven said, looking the building over as she slung a pack over one shoulder. “That should be interesting.”  
  
“The queen must have known Abby wouldn't want to be in an inn,” Octavia mused, grabbing her own bag. “That was smart of her.” Raven rolled her eyes, giving the other brunette a look before she said, “I mean sure, but it doesn't exactly take a genius to figure out she probably has issues with inns. Who wouldn't after what happened?”  
  
None of them said anything to that, an all too familiar silence growing between them. Even after seven years they all still felt the loss of Lord Griffin and Clarke every day, enough that whenever anyone began to talk about it everyone else just went quiet. A usual feeling stirred in Bellamy's gut, the hollow ache he'd come to expect appearing out of nowhere. At least his throat no longer immediately burned when he thought about the friend and mentor he had loss, but he knew none of them would ever be able to entirely get over it.  
  
“Let's go,” they heard someone call, breaking through their sudden quiet, and Bellamy looked over from his spot up in the wagon to see Lady Anya and Lincoln standing a few yards away, the woman clearly impatient. “This shouldn't take all day.”  
  
Raven's eyes narrowed, tossing her a look over her shoulder before she replied loudly, “It might be faster if someone wanted to help instead of just stand around and gawk.” As she spoke she grabbed another bag, loading it into one arm, and tossed her head back just enough to look annoyed. Bellamy almost smacked his forehead, suddenly aware he was going to have to watch her and his sister even closer than usual while they were there.  
  
“I apologize for my friend, my lady,” he told the woman still standing back a ways, her eyes now a little wider than they had been a moment ago. He tossed down the last bag and then jumped from the back of the wagon, giving her a sheepish smile as his feet smacked against the ground. “She never quite learned when to hold her tongue.” As he spoke he shouldered Raven lightly, sending her a little glare, one that she returned without an ounce of remorse.  
  
Beside the noblewoman, the Guardsman grinned, letting out a light laugh. “Don't mind Anya,” he told them, stepping forward and grabbing a bag, tossing it over one shoulder. “She just gets cranky whenever she can't keep an eye on the queen.” He shook his head, giving the woman a teasing grin. “As though she could get in trouble in the middle of the palace with the Guard all around her.”  
  
Lady Anya shot a scathing glare at the man, one that Bellamy was pretty sure any sane person would cower under, and then stepped forward angrily, grabbing one of the bags out of Raven's arms. “Give me that,” she muttered before settling the strap around her shoulder. Once it was in place she shot a look between Lincoln and the brunette. “Happy? Can we go now?”  
  
Bellamy grabbed the last couple of bags and then they made their way back into the palace, the Arkadians following the other two through hallways and down corridors and then up a set or two of stairs. He was relatively sure they would get lost when they tried to find their way back out of the palace but decided to wait to worry about that until later. Finally they stopped in a hallway with a couple of doors on either side and Anya set the bag she'd been carrying in front of one.  
  
“This is Lady Abigail's room,” she stated, gesturing to the door. She then gestured to the one beside it, adding, “This one is for Lady Madelaine.” Nodding to the two across the hall, she finished with, “And those are for you. The servants will come through daily to see if you need anything, and the queen can assign someone to the ladies if they require help getting dressed in the morning or undressed in the evening.” She glanced over at Raven, brow rising maybe a millimeter. “I'm sure you can dress yourselves.”  
  
“Been doing it all my life,” the brunette agreed with a sarcastic grin and the lady's brow twitched as Bellamy promised himself he would have to have a long talk with Raven later about how to properly address the nobility while they were in Polis. Luckily Anya just nodded then, turning back around and calling over her shoulder as she began to walk away, “If you need anything, ask one of the servants. They'll be able to help with whatever you need.” With that she was gone, likely to track down the queen if what Lincoln had said earlier was true.  
  
“Well isn't she just a bright ray of sunshine,” Raven remarked as she disappeared, and this time Bellamy covered his eyes with his hand, wishing not for the first time his friend knew how to keep her thoughts to herself. “Knock it off, Raven,” he warned her, “She's a noble; you don't want to piss off a noble.”  
  
“Actually I think she likes you,” Lincoln spoke up, shifting the bag he still held from one shoulder to the other. He nodded towards where the noblewoman had disappeared down the hall, telling them, “Anya isn't like most nobles, despite how many of them she has to deal with. She actually hates being called 'lady'.”  
  
“Noted,” Raven told him, a mischievous smirk growing along her mouth and Bellamy shook his head before beginning to corral her into Abby's room. “Come on, let's just get Abby and Madi's things unpacked. And seriously Raven, try to stay out of trouble while we're here.”  
  
“Don't look at me,” the young woman told him as she set down the bags she was carrying in the middle of Abby's room. She pointed to Octavia, who had been suspiciously quiet for longer than Bellamy could ever remember. “She's the one that's gonna get into trouble. Guarantee it.”  
  
“Ha,” Octavia replied, throwing the other woman a a look, “you're the one already picking fights with the nobility.”  
  
“Creative word play,” Raven corrected her, opening one of the bags and pulling out a few of Abby's dresses. “You're the one who'll draw your sword the minute you think someone's challenging you, no matter who they are. I bet you'd even challenge the queen if you thought she insulted you or something.”  
  
“She would actually probably enjoy that,” Lincoln told them lightly, adding in on the conversation and making Bellamy's job that much harder. When they all looked at him he shrugged, saying, “Her Majesty loves sword work and hasn't been able to get in a lot of training since the nobles began showing up. I'm sure she's itching for a fight.” He then nodded to the sword at Octavia's hip, telling her, “But if you'd like to get in some training with someone other than the queen, I can show you to the bailey when we finish here. That's where the Guard and the knights and squires all train, so there's almost always someone there to test yourself against.”  
  
Octavia's eyes immediately brightened, the usual energy she carried with her flaring up all at once. “That would be great!” she said, smiling at him. “I've barely been able to do anything since we left Arkadia and I think I'm starting to go a little crazy.” The Guard returned her smile, the gesture small as he just nodded. Raven lifted one eyebrow, looking back and forth between the two and then gave Bellamy a look. “See?” she said, tilting her head over towards them. “I told you; trouble.”  
  
They worked to get Abby's room all set up for her and then Madi's, and then dumped their own bags into the other rooms to go through later. Once they'd decided they were done Lincoln led them back through the castle and out to the bailey, the sounds of metal clashing against metal ringing out before they'd even stepped outside. Octavia's eyes were wide as they walked onto the courtyard, taking in the sight before them.  
  
The bailey at the Griffin fief was a good size, had plenty of room for soldiers to train with just about any weapon, but this bailey had to be at least three times as big. At the far end of the field they found dummies set up for bow and arrow work, a few people shooting at them already, and the rest of the space was wide open, clearly meant for combat training. They found six people about half way down the field with swords drawn, two people at a time dueling while the others cheered them on, and closer to them was another group, all wearing uniforms similar to Lincoln's. They had been busy practicing with staffs but stopped when they saw the Second step out onto the bailey, nodding to him and he just nodded back, silently telling them to carry on.  
  
“This is amazing,” Octavia breathed, eyes scanning the field to take it all in. “There's so much space.” She then grinned, looking over at Bellamy out of the corner of her eyes. “What do you think big brother, up for a friendly duel? It's been a while since I've been able to kick your butt.”  
  
“And so it begins,” Raven declared, a smirk tugging at her lips, and then she grabbed Lincoln's arm and pulled him back to the stone parapet cutting off the walkway from the courtyard. “Come on, you don't want to be too close when they get like this.” His brow rose, interest flashing across his face but he followed her without a word, just looking back at the two siblings.  
  
Bellamy rolled his eyes at the both of them, but could feel himself beginning to grin. “You know O, I guess I could go for a quick match. You're gonna be pissed when I win though.” She just scoffed, drawing her sword and he mirrored the action, the two circling each other for a moment before they settled into their stances.  
  
Octavia struck with force, her blade slicing through the air and Bellamy caught it, pushing back against his own blade to deflect the attack. He came in with an immediate counter, slashing downwards at a diagonal but her blade seemed to twist around his own, spinning it away.  
  
“Come on Bell, you'll have to do better than that,” she taunted, grinning at him, and he shook his head. “I'm just getting started, O.” To prove it he brought his weapon down in an arc but the flat of her blade caught it and then pushed it away as she rose up into an arc of her own. Rather than follow through with the obvious attack she spun away, putting a little bit of distance between them, and then stepped quickly towards him, making him turn to stop her sword as it came straight at him. His weapon met it mid-air, the blades screeching against each other, and then he thrust his entire body forward, planning to knock her off balance with his superior weight. She read the plan in his movements though and fell and rolled to the side, managing somehow to keep her sword in hand. He'd never quite been able to do that move successfully, always seeming to get his blade stuck in the dirt when he tried it, but somehow Octavia always made it look so easy. Despite what he said Bellamy was entirely aware his sister was the better fighter between the two of them, but would never admit to it out loud. Almost before he'd even had time to turn to find her she was up on her feet again, sword brandished in front of her, and he caught that ecstatic glint in her eye that always seemed to form whenever she was facing down an opponent.  
  
They were both too focused on their duel to notice the attention it was drawing. The Guardsmen who had been working with their staffs stopped what they were doing to watch these two newcomers fight, and the nobles who had been practicing their own sword work stopped as well, all turning and moving a little closer as the siblings attacked and parried and dodged out of the way. It wasn't until Bellamy had to yet again turn to keep his eyes on his sister that he noticed them, but when he did he pushed it to the back of his mind knowing that anything less than his full focus on the fight would end with a sword at his throat. Across from him he could tell from the way Octavia's eyes never left him that she had barely noticed anything outside of their duel, and the level of intensity his sister had amazed him not for the first time.  
  
It all ended for Bellamy when his sister dodged one of his attacks yet again, moving quickly enough she was able to get behind him, and then all of a sudden he felt a foot connect with his back, pushing him forward. He stumbled as he attempted to turn and when he tried to get his sword up Octavia easily knocked it aside, the point of her own coming to rest at the dip of his neck. He let out an exasperated sigh as he lifted up his hands, yielding the fight.  
  
“Alright so you win this one,” he grumbled before one corner of his mouth tugged up. “Next time though, I'll have you.” Octavia returned his look with a smirk of her own, letting her blade drop as she raised an eyebrow at him. “You just keep telling yourself that, Bell.”  
  
Before either of them could say anything else the sound of slow clapping made its way to them, and they both looked over to see the group of nobles still watching them. One of them had obviously been the one to start the clapping but a couple others had picked it up, and Bellamy stood up a little straighter, uncertainty filling his chest as the entire group moved closer to them.  
  
“That wasn't bad,” the one who had started the clapping told them, a corner of his mouth pulling up. His long sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his brown eyes scanned quickly over them. Looking at Octavia, he added, “You're fast. I would have expected someone as big as him to have you.”  
  
She bristled a little at that, shifting just a little in her stance as she met the young man's eyes. “I've been beating him consistently for a while now,” she told him, her chin jutting out, “doesn't matter that he's big.” The man was amused by the answer if the twitch of his lips was anything to go by, and then he lifted an eyebrow at her.  
  
“You two must be new to the city,” he said and then gestured to himself, “I'm Sir Philip Hyll of the Boudalan Mountains.” He over-pronounced his title, clearly expecting them to pick up on it, and Bellamy made himself dip into the bow the young lord was obviously waiting for. With his head down he shot a look at his sister from the corner of her eye and then she begrudgingly bowed also.  
  
“It's an honor to meet you, my lord,” Bellamy replied for them as he rose back up, trying to show them an easy smile. He could already tell Philip was the kind of noble he hated but knew he had many weeks to get through where he'd have to deal with plenty more just like him so tried push the feeling away. Gesturing to himself and then Octavia, he added, “I'm Bellamy Blake and this is my sister Octavia. We just arrived with Lady Abigail of the Arkadian Hills.”  
  
Lord Philip's eyebrows rose and Bellamy saw something flash across his face, his smile only growing. He turned to look at Octavia, looking her over again, and it took every bit of control Bellamy possessed to keep his grip around his sword from tightening with the way his eyes roamed over her.  
  
“Blake, huh?” the lord said, amusement coloring his tone. “That would make you Mistress Blake then.”  
  
“I like the sound of that,” one of the nobles behind him said with a grin, his eyes also scanning over her. Octavia's eyes narrowed, glaring back and forth between them and her stance shifted ever so slightly, enough that her brother knew if they didn't stop giving her those looks they would both regret it, and then she would too. He stepped forward, placing himself between his sister and them as much for their benefit as for hers, but even as he did someone else did the same thing.  
  
“Knock it off, both of you,” a young woman who had been standing behind Philip told them, breaking out from between him and the other man who had spoken. She moved easily, her shoulders relaxed, but Bellamy easily saw the sword hanging at her hip and the way one hand hovered near it. “It's pretty clear that _any_ Blake is too much for either of you to handle.” She waved her hand at them, telling them, “Go back to pretending you actually earned your knighthood and leave the real fighters alone.”  
  
“How dare you,” Philip growled, eyes closing into thin slits as he took a step towards her, one hand going to the pommel of the sword he had strapped to his belt. The woman didn't seem fazed in the slightest, just shifted a little in her stance and let her hand drop to her own sword. One eyebrow ticked up in mild interest, asking, “Would you like a duel? Because I would be happy to give you one.”  
  
Apparently this noblewoman was as tough as she acted; the Boudalan lord met her eyes, clearly debating on whether he should draw his sword or not, but then let his grip loosen on it, hand falling back to his side. Even as it did his head tilted up, looking down his nose at her as he called to the rest of them, “Let's go; we'll leave the common trash to clean itself up.” Without so much as another glance at any of them he walked forward, his shoulder forcefully bumping into the young woman's as he passed, and then he and his group were leaving the bailey and making their way back into the castle.  
  
A low whistle pierced the air, and Bellamy turned around to see Raven and Lincoln standing not far behind them. The brunette's brow was up, eyeing over the remaining noblewoman with a look that clearly expressed how impressed she was. “Now that's how to tell off a noble. You gonna get in trouble for that?”  
  
The woman's calm expression fell away, a grin breaking through it. “Nah,” she replied, giving a little shrug, “it's about time someone told Hyll to pull his head out of his ass. Just glad I finally got a good excuse to do it.” She reached out her hand then, looking back at Bellamy. “I'm Monroe.”  
  
He took her hand hesitantly, unsure whether he was supposed to kiss it or shake it. “Zoe Monroe?” he tried to clarify, relatively sure he knew the name. “From the Broadlands?” She made a face at that and shook her head. “Just Monroe. I like it better than my first name, and the only title I really care about is my knighthood. Since you're clearly all fighters too, I won't expect you to use it.” She flashed them another grin and Bellamy studied her, not sure he'd ever met anyone quite like her before. After another second he felt a pressure against his hand and realized he was still holding hers and he quickly shook it, deciding the socially expected kiss was not something she wanted.  
  
“Monroe then,” Octavia agreed, reaching out and taking her hand when Bellamy released it and giving it a shake, “glad to know there's at least one noble here that's got some common sense in them, other than just Abby and Madi.” Monroe let out a little laugh at that, her brow twitching in amusement.  
  
“And it's good to know we've got a few more decent fighters here now,” she said, and then she nodded past the Blakes towards Lincoln who was quietly watching the interaction. “I could use someone to train with when Lincoln here is on duty.”  
  
“I've told you you're welcome to join the Guard with their training,” he reminded her, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I'll let Indra know, and you'd get all the training you could handle.”  
  
Apparently the offer was one Monroe had declined before, and they all watched as the noblewoman shivered, shaking her head as her grin fell away a little.  
  
“Yeah, no thanks,” she told him, “I've seen what your Captain puts you through. I'm all for a good workout, but what you all have to do would probably kill the heartiest knight.”  
  
Octavia – never one to back down from a challenge, especially when that challenge included physical labor – turned to give Lincoln a curious look. “When does the Guard train?” He turned to her, a little surprised by the interest, and answered, “Every day, about mid-morning. The groups change depending who's on duty, but Captain Indra and I are always there.”  
  
“Mind if I join?” she asked, and behind her Bellamy could see Raven roll her eyes. “You're just going to jump right in without knowing what you're getting yourself into, aren't you?” It was almost more of a statement than a question and Octavia just flashed her a grin and Bellamy shook his head, wishing it didn't entirely sum up his sister but fully aware it did.  
  
“Good luck,” Monroe told her, sounding a little too serious, but then she gestured to Octavia's sword. “While you still have functioning legs, any chance you'd be up for another friendly duel?” She tilted her head as she gave the brunette a look, and Octavia grinned before she nodded. “Love to,” she agreed, beginning to lift her sword up in a preparation stance, but as she did the noblewoman got a better look at the weapon, her eyes instantly widening.  
  
“Where did you get a sword like _that_?” she all but demanded, more surprised and impressed than anything else. Octavia's grip on the pommel tightened, subconsciously drawing the blade a little closer to herself as her eyes fell to it. They all knew it was a beautiful weapon, its blade perfectly tempered, the finest leather money could buy wrapped around the pommel, and whenever anyone saw it for the first time they always wanted to know how Octavia had gotten it. It was a sword meant for a noble, meant to be wielded by a fine knight rather than a girl who had spent the first few years of her life living on the streets, and it was by far Octavia's most prized possession. Most people admired it solely for its magnificence, but to her its significance went so much deeper than just how it looked.  
  
“It was a gift,” she just said, the amusement that had been in her voice a moment ago gone now, and Bellamy and Raven knew exactly why as thoughts of the friend who had given it to her flashed through all of their minds. Monroe and Lincoln looked at them, sensing some kind of shift but apparently neither of them thought it a good idea to bring it up, because after a long second the knight just raised her own sword.  
  
“Alright, well let's see what you and that pretty sword can do,” she called, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a challenging smirk. Just like that the somber mood shifted away and was replaced by the buzzing energy of a fight, and Octavia's lips turned up to meet the challenge.  
  
“I'll be glad to show you,” she taunted back, settling into her stance while the other three put a little more distance between themselves and the two duelers. Bellamy and Raven exchanged a look as they stepped back, Bellamy's amused while Raven rolled her eyes, and Lincoln just watched on, his entire focus on the fight as Monroe sprang forward, beginning the duel.  
  
They'd only been at the palace for a couple of hours and already they had made a couple of friends and helped piss off a handful of nobles; Bellamy figured it was probably the best Abby could have expected. After all, she knew them well enough she couldn't expect them to stay _completely_ out of trouble. 

***

For once Lexa was actually in the library rather than just pretending to be while she really snuck into the city. She sat in one of the large chairs by the lit hearth, the light from its fire and the many candles spaced throughout the room making it easy to read from the book she had carefully laid out across her lap. It wasn't the most interesting of reads, a large volume filled to the brim with laws regarding land owning and expansion, but she found it hard to look away from nonetheless. Some of the ideas she'd been mulling over for the past few weeks began to form more fully, and she made a few mental notes of thoughts to add to the ever-growing list she kept compiled neatly in her room.  
  
The sound of footsteps approaching her forced her to pull herself from the text, blinking a little as her sight re-adjusted to the real world after staring at scrolling ink for so long. Her brother tilted his head to the side slightly as he made his way towards her, giving her a curious look.  
  
“Titus said you were looking for me?” he said and Lexa nodded, gesturing to an empty chair in front of her on the other side of the hearth. Aden sat in it lightly, his posture perfectly straight, and the brunette cracked a smile at him.  
  
“Relax,” she told him, conveniently forgetting she sat just as straight, despite the library being almost empty of everyone but them. The only other person in there other than servants was Anya, the knight sitting back behind the queen, and despite the fact the last time the queen had looked she'd had a book open in front of her Lexa was half sure she'd fallen asleep. Aden sat further back in his chair, letting his shoulders relax a little as she'd said, though he still gave her the same look. She closed the book in her lap gently, one finger remaining in between the pages so she wouldn't lose her place, and then calmly told him, “I'd like to go over last week's audience with you.”  
  
“Why?” he wanted to know, frowning a little. “You weren't late enough to miss anything.”  
  
The reminder that she'd been later than usual itched at her, unwelcome and unwanted. She shouldn't have let Ryder insist on the excursion to the forest, should have realized that even with trying to pay attention to the time it would make it difficult to be back before the audiences were meant to begin, but she hadn't and almost didn't make it. She'd been furious at herself all day after that but had made sure to keep the anger hidden, locked away where it could burn undisturbed in her chest. Ever since then she had kept her meetings with the eligible nobles confined to the palace, maybe gone on short rides just outside it if they insisted, but never any farther. She took a silent breath, pushing the itch away, and let any and all thoughts regarding the men so foolishly trying to win her hand wipe from her mind.  
  
“You need to be able to run them if I'm not there,” she answered and he frowned. “But you're the queen,” he stated and she nodded. “I am. But you're the prince, and the heir. Your blood is just as royal as mine. If I'm traveling, or held up somewhere else, I want you to be able to run the audience without me.”  
  
“Why not just wait until you can be there?” he asked. “The people want to see you, that's why they come.”  
  
“Hm,” Lexa heard behind her, a quiet scoff telling her Anya in fact wasn't asleep. “You're giving her way too much credit, kid. Most people are too busy, they're not going to drop everything they have going on just to come see the queen.”  
  
“They come because they have problems,” Lexa told him, pointedly ignoring her friend, “problems they need someone to figure out. They assume I can, so they come to the palace.”  
  
“Okay, but _some_ of them just come to see you,” Aden insisted, giving her a look and then giving the same look to Anya behind her, and Lexa conceded, shrugging. “Yes, some people do come to see me. But _most_ of them come because they need help, and they deserve to get that help even if I'm not here. And the people who do come just to see me would still get to see you.” He continued to give her a look, clearly not yet convinced anyone would ever go to him for help like they did her, but then his shoulders just barely lifted, his expression settling again.  
  
“Okay,” he just said as he met her eyes, “what exactly did you want to go over?”  
  
“I want your thoughts on some of the issues they brought up,” she replied, shifting a little in her seat, her own posture relaxing just a little as she leaned back against her chair. “Tell me what you would have said to them if it were you they had gone to.” He gave a little nod and she smiled in return. “Let's start with Master Mosier and his stolen plow.”  
  
With the hearth beside them, the queen and prince went back and forth, going over the problems they'd been presented with during the last audience and then Lexa began making up new ones, issues she'd had to deal with in the past but her brother may not have been as familiar with. At first he mostly repeated what she'd said when the problems had been presented to her, but with a little bit of coaxing Aden began going deeper, his brow furrowing a bit as he thought about them more thoroughly. Anya even spoke up every now and then, adding her two cents on his answers or what she might have said, and soon the three were openly discussing various problems throughout the nation, both large and small. They jumped back and forth from the newly acquired land they now had since the war ended and what to do with it to what they could do when a farmer's lead horse died and he had no money to buy a new one. At some point while they were talking a servant came by with a tray of steaming mugs for them and the warm tea just seemed to drive them more, Aden now sitting forward in his chair and eyes bright as he thought through every scenario Lexa presented him with. His sister watched him carefully, noticing the way his brow furrowed as he thought about a particularly challenging issue and then how his eyes lit up when he came up with an answer. When the fire in the hearth had begun to die down Anya got up, refueling it with a couple of logs in the stand beside it, and then she pulled her chair forward so that she could be better part of the conversation and Lexa felt a warmth spread through her chest. Nights like this one were rare, far too few with her hectic schedule of pandering to dozens of nobles and trying to learn as much as she could about the realities her people lived in, and she treasured it.  
  
They had fallen into a heated debate on the penalties of stealing when they heard someone enter the library behind them. Lexa thought little of it, assuming it must be another servant coming to take away their mugs, but rethought that when Anya's expression shifted. Her best friend had been vehemently arguing a moment ago about how the laws were too lenient when it came to stealing, to the point where Lexa had been sure her next move would be to challenge her to a duel and let their swords finish it for them, but then all at once her disposition changed. Her eyes flickered forward as though she'd been staring into the fire the entire time, and Lexa was sure she saw a little scowl flash across her face before she could hide it. Unsure of what could have caused the sudden shift, the queen turned to see who had just entered, surprise pulling up her brow when she recognized one of the young women who had arrived that morning with Lady Abigail. For her part the woman looked equally surprised to see them there, her glance quickly passing back and forth between them all, and she froze, now standing a little awkwardly by one of the many bookshelves.  
  
“Rr, sorry,” the young woman said, rubbing nervously at the back of her neck. “I uh, I didn't think anyone would be in here.” She seemed to suddenly realize she'd forgotten something and quickly bowed despite the fact she was wearing a long nightgown. The motion tugged at the corner of Lexa's lips but she fought it away, not wanting this woman to think she was laughing at her. She rose from her chair and Aden and Anya quickly followed suit, though from the corner of her eye she thought she saw Anya shift a little as she did so. The uncertain movement was odd coming from the knight, but the queen chose not to think on it at in this moment.  
  
“No need to apologize,” she told the woman who still hadn't risen from her bow. Lexa waited until she had to give her a small smile, hoping to make her more at ease, and finally the woman stood back up. “I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name earlier.”  
  
“Raven,” the brunette answered quickly, “Raven Reyes, Your Majesty.”  
  
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Raven,” Lexa said, giving her a little nod. “I hope you are settling in well. If you need anything, please just ask.”  
  
“Uh, yeah okay, I will,” Raven replied, her diction telling Lexa she clearly wasn't used to speaking so formally. It made the queen wonder what it was like at the Griffin fief, how Lady Abigail interacted with her people if this woman was trusted enough to have been given one of the spots in the palace rather than sent to the inn she'd got for the rest of the Arkadians.  
  
“What are you doing up?” Anya asked, her tone a little gruff as she shot a look at the brunette. “It's late. Shouldn't you be sleeping?”  
  
Some of Raven's awkwardness melted away, an eyebrow quickly ticking up and Lexa could practically see a fire spark in her eyes as she returned Anya's look without any hesitation. “I could ask you the same thing but I won't. I'm _up_ because Lincoln told us there was a library here. I had to wait for Octavia to stop blathering about training with the Guard in the morning, so I couldn't get away until now. Not that it's any of your business.” Anya's shoulders stiffened a little, something Lexa wasn't entirely sure Raven would notice but she certainly did, and despite herself she found her interest piqued. Somehow it appeared the Arkadian had gotten under the knight's skin.  
  
The queen decided to let herself have a little fun. She gave the younger woman another small smile and then gestured over to her best friend. “Our library is very extensive. I'm sure Anya would be happy to show you around. If you were looking for anything in particular, she can help you find it.” Anya shot her a glare, barely even bothering to try to hide the look, and Lexa pretended not to see it, just continuing to smile politely at the brunette.  
  
Raven's lips curled up into a lazy smile, looking from the queen over to the knight who stood a little too stiffly beside her. She bowed again, this time making more of a show of it, but didn't look away from the annoyed blonde as her shoulders dipped down.  
  
“I think that sounds like a good idea,” she said, lips curling up in a cocky smirk. “I'd love to have your help, _my lady_.” Anya ground her jaw for a second, clearly not happy, but then just started walking away, calling after her, “Fine, let's get this over with.” Raven grinned, dipping another quick bow to the queen, and then followed behind the knight, and as they began to disappear down an aisle of books Lexa heard her call out, “Alright, so I was thinking we could start with the oldest histories you have, and then maybe we can jump over to some mathematics. Oh, and then I would just _love_ to see what kind of sappy romantic ballads you've got here...”  
  
Lexa could still hear Raven talking by the time Anya had led them out of sight, and by then her own smile had grown, probably a little too pleased with herself. Aden shook his head beside her before flopping back down into his chair, and when she turned to sit back down as well he gave her a look.  
  
“I don't really know what just happened, but you do know she's going to make you pay for that, right?” he wanted to know, eyebrows raised, and Lexa nodded, her smirk still firmly in place. She grabbed the book she'd been reading earlier and resettled it on her lap as she looked over at him.  
  
“It will have been worth it,” she informed him. “I don't think Raven's going to stop talking until she's seen the entire library.”  
  
“Anya's going to kill her,” he muttered. “Or you. One or the other.” She just grinned at him, not in the least concerned, and then leaned forward a little bit. “So, any other thoughts on the laws against stealing?” A corner of his mouth twitched and then he leaned forward as well, mirroring her posture. “Actually I was thinking about it...”  
  
The two sat like that for at least another hour, debating back and forth on numerous laws and Lexa let herself just enjoy the moment, entirely content.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

For the first time, stepping into The Rig didn't immediately cause Lexa's mouth to go dry or her cheeks to flush. The noises were all the same but this time she was instantly able to ignore them, and she was proud of herself for the small victory. Nobody stood against the wall waiting to be seen to but the usual people she expected to see were behind the desk, Luna and the house's guard both looking over at her while two others stood leaning against the desk as though they'd been having a conversation with their mistress. She recognized both but only knew one by name, meeting Niylah's gaze as her eyes quickly scanned the brunette.  
  
“Hello,” she greeted, nodding to them all collectively and Luna just waved dismissively, clearly knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “Hold on,” she said, eyes dropping down to her ledger and beginning to look over it, “let me see if Clarke's busy.”  
  
“She's not,” Niylah answered for her, still watching the brunette. “She's in her room.” She paused for a second as though she were thinking something over and then stood up straight and took a step away from the desk. “Come on, I'll take you to her.”  
  
“That's okay, I uh, I can wait for her here,” Lexa replied, vividly remembering what she'd seen the last time one of Clarke's friends promised to take her to the redhead. Sometimes she still had problems closing her eyes and not seeing her bare body painted out in a little too much detail, and more than once those images had been accompanied with thoughts of her own fingers skimming across that beautiful skin.  
  
Luna seemed to know what she was thinking because she looked up again, nodding towards the blonde. “You can go with her, she's right, Clarke's in her room.” She turned her focus over to Niylah then, telling her, “Come back here when you're done. Maya will take the next guest, but Charlotte said that Mistress Tover is likely to be by tonight, and you know she always requests you.” The younger woman just nodded and then looked back at Lexa, gesturing for her to follow, and after a moment's hesitation the queen did. She kept her sight focused on the blonde's back as she followed her through the hall, afraid that if she looked anywhere else she would end up getting an eye-full of naked Clarke again, something that would only be bad because she'd be unable to stop thinking about it and then feel guilty.  
  
They were climbing the stairs when Niylah broke the silence between them.  
  
“You and Clarke have been spending a lot of time together lately,” she stated, her tone carefully even in the same way Lexa's so often was, and it made the brunette look up towards her face. She could only see bits of her profile with the other woman still in front of her, but even so she could read from the rigidness of her back that there was more to what the woman was thinking than just what she'd said.  
  
“Some, yes,” Lexa answered lightly, looking up past her shoulder, not wanting to get caught staring. She noticed Niylah look back at her over her shoulder, eyeing her over for a second before looking forward again.  
  
“She doesn't talk about you much,” she said and Lexa shrugged. “There isn't much to talk about.”  
  
“Hm,” Niylah hummed, going quiet again for a few seconds and the queen waited to see if she would say anything more. She had a feeling the blonde had something she wanted to get out and wasn't sure how, so she waited. As they stepped off the stairs onto Clarke's floor Niylah stopped, turning around to look at the other woman squarely. “Clarke isn't an easy person to get to know. She doesn't spend much time with a lot of people, but she spends time with you. Time I'm not sure she's even getting paid for, which is even more rare.”  
  
She stopped then, as though she expected Lexa to deny or justify it, and the brunette just met her look, brow rising a fraction. When neither had spoken for a drawn out second, Lexa said, “I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you want me to say to that.” Niylah's brow furrowed and she shook her head, turning around a little.  
  
“I don't want you to say anything,” she murmured, frowning as though she herself wasn't sure what she wanted. She glanced down the hall and Lexa knew she was looking at the door to Clarke's room, likely thinking about the woman behind it and for some reason the look on her face made something hot spring up in her gut. The queen shoved it back instantly, pretending she didn't know it was a spike of jealousy. The expression on the blonde's face softened, not noticing the negative emotion the queen was currently fighting with, and she added quietly, “Clarke's a private person, but it's easy to see she's been... happier lately, I guess. At times. Days after she sees you.” She looked back over at Lexa, eyes scanning her face and the other woman met them, not entirely sure what she was looking for. “Whatever's going on between you two, it makes her happy, and Clarke deserves to be happy. That also doesn't happen often. So just... don't hurt her. If you do you'll regret it.”  
  
It wasn't a threat so much as an assurance, and one Lexa wholeheartedly believed. Even just the thought of Clarke hurt made her queasy, made her stomach roll and heart pound in her chest, and she knew without having to think about it that this other woman was right. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe make a promise or tell her she could never hurt Clarke, but then she closed it again. She had no intention of hurting Clarke, hated even just the thought of it, but this friendship they had built between them was fragile at best. True to her word, the redhead had stopped coming to the palace once the rest of the Arkadians had arrived, so the only times they saw each other now was when Lexa managed to sneak out of the palace. She'd done so again at the end of the previous week, finding the opportunity when Anya hadn't felt well and had gone to bed early for the night, and while she and Clarke had enjoyed more time together exploring the city, they both understood it couldn't last forever. It was an understanding they'd never spoken of out loud but one Lexa read in blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean and the sky all at once, and any time the queen thought about it she had a hard time breathing. Someday that moment would arrive and they would both hurt, and there was nothing the queen could do about it.  
  
After a moment of silence Lexa nodded, not as a promise but as an agreement; when she hurt Clarke, she would regret it.  
  
Niylah returned the nod with her own, and whether she understood what Lexa had been thinking or believed she'd just promised not to hurt their mutual friend the queen wasn't sure, but without another word she began down the hall again. Lexa followed, doing her best to push the thoughts their conversation had stirred up away, having no desire to think about leaving Clarke when she was about to see her again instead, and by the time they'd reached her door she'd been mostly successful. Niylah reached out and knocked and they had to wait for a few seconds before it swung open. The moment it did any discomfort Lexa had been feeling from their conversation was swept away entirely, a small smile taking over her expression as she found Clarke standing in front of her. She wore a robe tied tightly around her middle and Lexa was a little surprised to see the necklace she'd always worn to the palace around her neck, one hand fiddling absentmindedly with the pendant hanging at its end, but all she could really focus on were blue eyes that widened just a bit when she saw who was outside her door.  
  
The redhead looked quickly from Niylah to Lexa, her lips slowly curling up into a larger smile. “My lady, what a surprise,” she said, giving the brunette a look. “At this rate I should just start spending my nights downstairs with Luna, in case you come in to see me.” She gave the queen a flirtatious wink, one that a part of Lexa hoped wasn't just part of her act, and then turned to look back at Niylah. “Thanks for bringing her to me, Niylah. I can take it from here.”  
  
“I'm sure you can,” Niylah replied dryly, the corners of her mouth just twitching as Clarke flashed her brilliant smile at her. She turned to head back towards the stairs, giving Lexa that same look one last time as she walked by her, and then left them. The queen knew she probably should have thanked her for her help but before she could get the words out Clarke was opening her door a little wider and she found herself stepping into her room.  
  
“You know, this is starting to become a bad habit,” the younger woman joked as she closed the door. “I figured you'd be bored of me by now, but this is what, four or five weeks in a row now?”  
  
Lexa's smile twitched, an eyebrow raising at the redhead. “Is there really anyone who can say they've gotten bored of you, Clarke? I might question their sanity, if so.” Clarke just grinned and shrugged at her before she made her way over to her closet. “I'm not sure you're one to talk, Lexa. Some people would probably question _your_ sanity if they knew you were here right now.” She barely had to look through her clothes, so used to this by now that she could toss a teasing look over her shoulder and still grab what she'd started thinking of as Lexa's dress with only a quick glance into the space. The queen had nothing to say in return, just fought to control her grin and accepted the dress and usual pair of hose as they were handed to her. As though she were on autopilot she took them over to the bed, putting them down as she begin to strip out of her clothes. When she heard Clarke moving behind her, likely changing out of the robe she'd been wearing and into a dress of her own, she made sure not to turn, giving the other woman her privacy.  
  
Once they were both dressed Lexa handed her sword over to Clarke, watching her as she hid it behind her clothing in the closet, and then felt herself frown a little bit as the redhead grabbed a scarf as she stepped away again, quickly and easily wrapping it around her neck. She'd had to force herself not to stare at the discoloration on her skin when she made her way into the room, but now she couldn't quite help herself from looking. After a couple of weeks the markings were nearly gone, the skin now a fading yellow and brown instead of the angry purple and blue she'd managed to get a peak of the last time Clarke had been at the palace, but it still unsettled her. The younger woman had insisted she was fine, that it had all been a part of her work, and she believed Luna wouldn't purposefully send any of her people into a dangerous situation, but even so it made her stomach flip. The fact that there was still even a small trace of the bruise this long after told Lexa how tightly her friend's neck had been squeezed, and a ball of hate and anger spun in her gut, searching for some way out. Clarke smiled at her as she pulled the chain of her necklace out from beneath the tied scarf, probably knowing exactly what the brunette must be thinking, and Lexa did her best to squash that anger. Bringing it up would probably just make the younger woman uncomfortable, and the queen would be the first person to admit to not knowing everything that encompassed Clarke's work, so she made herself smile back. When the dark-haired woman stepped forward, her hand falling to squeeze Lexa's encouragingly, that smile became far more believable.  
  
“Come on,” Clarke said, nodding towards the door, “there's a lot more of your city to see.” Lexa nodded and let her pull her out the door, waging an internal war whether to try to ignore the tingling she felt on her palm at Clarke's touch or if she should bother trying to think about anything else.  
  
Clarke led them down a new street tonight, this one not as well-lit as any of the others she'd ever taken her down before. Here Lexa grew sombre, her heart breaking as she walked by the absolutely lowest of the classes, those who she and everyone else with wealth had all but forgotten about. Some of the people they passed were practically naked, what scraps of clothing they did wear so worn or holey that they could hardly be called clothes anymore. Nearly all of them were thin enough that she could count their ribs if she looked hard enough, and she nearly had to cover her nose from the smell of them. Flies buzzed around bodies sitting pressed up against broken down walls and mangy cats and dogs roamed the street or pressed themselves against thin legs. The buildings in this area of the city were run-down, many of the walls either having collapsed or looking like they would do so at any time, but even so as she passed one such building she could see people moving around inside. Others laid out in the streets, thin blankets covering their bodies and Lexa honestly couldn't tell if the people under them were alive or dead.  
  
“Clarke!” she heard called, and a little boy so skinny Lexa wondered how he even had the energy to move ran out of one of the houses, his lips curling up to show a number of missing teeth. Two girls followed quickly behind him, each even younger than he was. The youngest of the three clutched a rag that was likely a prized blanket, almost tripping on it as she raced to keep up with the other two.  
  
“Hey Kinder,” Clarke said with a matching grin, reaching out and wrapping her arm around the boy as he pressed himself to her side in a partial hug. The two girls attached themselves to her other side and she hugged them as well, saying, “Mimmie, Henley; how are you all doing?”  
  
“Good!” Kinder told her, looking up at her and still beaming. “Mama brung us ta the market yesterday. We got some bread!”  
  
“Yeah!” the older of the two girls agreed, also grinning. “She said if we was good, we could go again!”  
  
“Well then you better all be good for your mama,” Clarke told them, holding them a little tighter. She looked over to Lexa, finding the queen watching the interaction with a strange look on her face, and felt her smile grow. “This is my friend Lexa. Lexa, these are my friends Kinder, Mimmie and Henley.” Kinder detached himself from her leg to give the brunette an enthusiastic wave while Mimmie turned her grin on her. Henley, probably no more than two or three, pressed a little closer to Clarke's skirt, apparently shy.  
  
“It's nice to meet you all,” Lexa said, letting her lips curl up in a smile at the enthusiastic greeting she got from two of them. Looking at Henley, she knelt down until she was closer to eye-level and let her smile soften. “Hi Henley. I like your blanket.” She pointed to the rag the little girl was holding, and Henley looked at it for a second before gravely holding it out. Lexa's brow rose a little bit but she accepted it, sure she'd never handled anything filthier or as treasured before in her life. She made it seem like she was looking it over thoroughly and then handed it back, telling her, “It's a very pretty blanket. You must take really good care of it.” That seemed to draw a little smile from the toddler as she gripped the rag close to her and looked away, shy but happy.  
  
“Clarke I been practicin' what you teached me!” Kinder exclaimed excitedly, grabbing and tugging on the redhead's sleeve to draw her attention back to him. “Watch!” He glanced to the ground as though he were searching for something and then bent down and grabbed a rock a little smaller than his fist. Quickly he knelt and began digging in the dirt, and when he moved out of the way Lexa saw _Kindɘr_ spelled out in choppy lines.  
  
“That looks great!” Clarke exclaimed, reaching out and pulling him back to her side to give him another hug. “We'll turn you into a scholar and soon everyone will be hiring you to teach them how to write just as well as you!” He beamed up at her, obviously happy with the praise, and Lexa felt something in her chest break open as she watched the two of them together. Clarke rubbed Mimmie's back, giving her another smile as well, and then told them, “Alright, well Lexa and I have to go, but I'll come back soon and I'll teach you both how to spell Mimmie's name, and maybe even Henley's. How does that sound?”  
  
“Okay!” Kinder and Mimmie both exclaimed, and just a second behind them Henley piped up with an excited, “Yeah!”, her little fists going up in the air as she continued to clench her blanket. Clarke smiled at all of them, her eyes soft as she looked them over, and Lexa found it hard to look anywhere else. As the three kids pulled away however she thought of something, her expression lighting up, and she dug into her pocket.  
  
“Here,” she said, holding out what she'd dug out to Kinder as the boy reached out for it. “This is for your mama for the next time she goes to the market. Remember to be good so you can go with her and pick out something special.” She dropped the coins in his open palms and his eyes suddenly widened, surprise and then excitement clouding them. Quickly his fingers closed around them, pulling them away before she could think better of it and take the money back, and this time his big beam was directed to her.  
  
“Thanks Lexa!” he called, already starting to run back from where they'd come, his sisters hurrying to keep up with him. “Promise we'll be real good!” The three disappeared back into the house they'd come out of and Lexa watched them go, a sad smile on her face. She'd only dropped a few coins into his hands but he'd acted like she'd given him the world, and all she could think about was how she owed him and his family far more.  
  
Finally tearing her eyes away from the building they'd disappeared in, she turned to find Clarke staring at her, something in her eyes that made Lexa's throat close up for just a second.  
  
“That was nice of you,” the redhead just said, her voice a little quiet, and Lexa shrugged. “It was nothing,” she replied, having to look away from the intensity of those blue eyes. “I need to do a lot more.”  
  
“Maybe,” Clarke agreed as she took a step closer to the brunette, “but that doesn't mean it isn't still important. You just made them really happy, and their mother will be even happier when she sees it.” The corners of her lips quirked up, a laugh tucked into them as she added, “Though she'll probably think they stole it.”  
  
The redhead began walking again and Lexa fell into step beside her. She frowned at the woman's words, asking, “They won't get in trouble for it, will they?” Clarke let out a light laugh, glancing at the queen out of the corner of her eye. “When you live like their family does, you never get in trouble for bringing money home, no matter how you got it.” Lexa's brow furrowed, thinking the words over, and then slowly nodded, figuring that made sense.  
  
As they stepped out onto a new street, this one much better lit and crawling with more life than the previous one had, Clarke asked, “Where did you get that money, anyway? Did you ask Anya or Titus for an allowance?” Her tone was light, teasing, and Lexa found herself very nearly sticking her tongue out at her, more at ease than she cared to admit.  
  
“No,” she replied, scrunching up her nose a little before telling her, “I just didn't want to make you pay for everything again tonight, should we end up anywhere that requires money. I thought about going into the treasury, but that would have probably caused questions. Plus it felt a little like I was stealing from myself, which meant I would be stealing from the Kongeda.” Something that sounded like a laugh got caught in Clarke's chest and when Lexa glanced over she found a small grin tugging at her lips, and felt her own twitch up to match it. “Instead I brought a couple of my old shirts with me tonight and sold them at one of the stands I go by to get to The Rig.” The shirts had been old, sure, but they were still great quality, and Lexa knew for a fact she'd been paid far less than what they were worth. She didn't care though, just happy to have coin enough so Clarke wouldn't have to spend any of her own money tonight, and patted her pocket the rest of the coins were in.  
  
The redhead nodded even as an eyebrow rose, apparently impressed. “Good idea,” she told the queen who just returned the nod. “What would you say to a drink or two then? Since you planned ahead so well?”  
  
“I like that idea,” Lexa replied, giving her a smile, and Clarke returned it, quickly steering them in a new direction. It took them a few minutes, and as they walked the queen continued to take in the sights around her, but soon they found themselves once again outside of the Dropship, and Clarke led the way inside.  
  
The common room was crowded tonight, almost every table full. At the usual table a dozen or more people played dice, shouting and swearing and cheering with every roll. Murphy and Emori were clearly busy, each constantly moving around the room taking orders from people and delivering tankards and food, and Lexa stuck close to Clarke as the redhead spotted one of the only empty tables left and led them to it. It sat at the edge of the room, tucked up against the wall, and the two quickly fell into the seats on either side of it, both looking around at the lively space.  
  
“I guess you picked a good night for a drink,” Clarke said, having to raise her voice just a little to make sure the queen heard. Lexa nodded, too focused on taking in the hectic room to look over at her, and Clarke smiled, using the moment to get a good look at the brunette. She looked as good as ever in the brown dress, and the younger woman bit the inside of her cheek as she fought to keep her gaze from dipping to her chest. Tonight the queen's hair tumbled down her back, only a couple of tiny braids woven into it here and there, and she looked more free than Clarke had ever seen her before. Though the noise and number of people seemed to make her just a little more guarded than she'd been on the way here, she still appeared more relaxed than she ever had in the palace. She looked beautiful in the light given off from the torches along the walls and the candles placed sporadically around the room, and Clarke suddenly found it a challenge not to stare.  
  
“Well, haven't seen you here in a while,” a voice broke in, making the young woman shake her head quickly before she turned to see Emori standing by their table, smirking down at her. With Wells now staying at another inn she'd had no reason to come back since the night Titus's men had tried to kill her. She made a mental note to come back tomorrow so she could return Emori's cloak and dress, silently chastising herself for not doing it sooner.  
  
Lexa turned her attention on the innkeeper and Clarke gave Emori a flirtatious smile, falling back into her act without missing a beat. “I know, you must miss me. I'm sure many of your patrons do.” She shot Emori a wink and the older woman just shook her head, lips curling up into a grin.  
  
“Without you to keep them entertained I gotta listen to them fight about those dice all day,” she complained good-naturedly, hooking her thumb over her shoulder towards the most crowded table. “So really, feel free to come by any time.” Someone shouted something at another table and she looked over to it, her attention suddenly split. “What can I get for ya?”  
  
“Two tankards, please,” Lexa told her, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few copper pieces. She reached out and dropped them into Emori's palm, the older woman glancing over at Clarke and lifting an eyebrow before she tucked the coins away. “Two tankards, coming up. It'll be just a minute.” With that she hurried away to see to the other guests and get them their drinks, and the two were alone again.  
  
“You're so polite,” Clarke stated, giving the brunette a look over the table and Lexa frowned. “Of course,” she just said, seemingly confused by the observation. “Why wouldn't I be?”  
  
Clarke shrugged. “I don't know. I guess you'd just be surprised by how few people actually are.” She gestured to the room around them, saying, “Most of these people probably aren't going to bother with a please or thank you. It's Emori's job to get them what they ask for, after all. And other people, the people you spend most of your time with, would look down on her and expect her to pretty much grovel at their feet.”  
  
Lexa's nose scrunched up at the thought, but knew every word of it was true; too many nobles thought themselves better than commoners simply due to their birth, and while she'd always known it was a problem it was only becoming more and more clear the more time she spent with Clarke. She'd thought of a few possible solutions to the problems she'd so far encountered while exploring her city, but the major divide between the classes was still one she spent her nights wrestling with.  
  
“I'm learning I'm not as alike those people as I once believed,” she replied carefully, going over the words in her mind a few times before she actually said them. Looking across the table and meeting blue eyes already watching her, she felt her expression shift a little, a hint of a smile growing along her lips as she added, “I'm hoping that's a good thing.”  
  
“It is,” Clarke promised her, meaning it more than even she realized. “Not that all of them are bad, because they're not, but none of them are quite like you.” Lexa ducked her head for a second, looking almost as shy as Henley in that moment, and it made some kind of warmth pool pleasantly in the redhead's chest. They were both quiet for a moment, neither breaking the silence, and then Murphy approached their table, dropping off two tankards with a muttered, “Mm” when Lexa thanked him before turning around and going to another table.  
  
Clarke peered at the brunette over her tankard as she took a swallow. Lexa had no idea just how different from other nobles she was, and Clarke wasn't entirely sure she'd ever be able to describe how that made her feel. She had purposefully spent the last six years doing everything she could to fall into the beds of as many nobles as possible, so if ever there was someone who understood them in every way it was her. Just like any group of people, no two nobles were exactly the same, but there were certainly characteristics she'd come to expect from them. Most spent their time thinking they were elevated above everyone, but the single person who truly was elevated over everyone else had just made a three year old happy by telling her her rag of a blanket was pretty. Lexa defied her class, and every moment Clarke spent with her made her want to know more about her. She could feel them beginning to tread into dangerous territory, territory that she knew she should be running away from as fast as possible, but she remained seated, sipping at her tankard as she stared at the conundrum across the table.  
  
“So how have you been?” Lexa asked suddenly, meeting her eyes as she took a drink from her tankard. Her expression didn't shift in the slightest, and if she didn't know any better Clarke would think she'd actually begun to enjoy the ale. She shrugged, fingers moving to play with the pendant of her necklace just for something to do. “Good,” she answered, giving the older woman a smile. “I've been pretty good.”  
  
“You've been missed at the-” Lexa caught herself, glancing for a moment around the room and then corrected herself, “-at my parties. My brother says they're a lot more boring now that he can't watch some his friends fight over you. He was complaining the other day that you made them more fun.” A little grin pulled at her lips, looking over at Clarke as though they shared a secret. “Apparently you are funny and unlike anyone else he's ever met.”  
  
“It's nice to be appreciated,” Clarke joked, lifting her mug up in a sort of mock salute before taking another drink. “He made the parties fun for me too.” She thought about the prince, how quick he was at picking up on many of her jokes and teasing and how every now and then when one of the nobles in their circle was gloating and trying to boost themselves up their eyes would meet. Neither of their expressions would really change but somehow they both seemed to understand what the other one was thinking, and she'd liked that. He wasn't nearly as much of a puzzle to solve as his sister, but Clarke had enjoyed being around him nevertheless.  
  
“There are others who miss you as well, of course,” Lexa continued, looking down into her tankard and tapping her finger lightly against it. “Your usual crowd has looked a little... lost without you there.”  
  
“They'll get over it,” Clarke replied dryly, thinking about how many of them couldn't be missing her too much. Despite her personal exile from the palace or maybe because of it, she had seen a number of young noblemen over the past two weeks. This week alone almost every other night she'd been hired by one of them, and she'd used every single one to her advantage but had yet to find out anything more about Emerson. So far she'd learned that one of the lesser Delphi lords had an opium addiction, that Evan Riddell from the Ingrona Plains and Sara Mines from the Blue Cliffs were already sleeping together despite the fact no marriage arrangements had been made, and she was relatively sure that the heir to the Shallow Valley was in love with his manservant. Just two nights ago Cage Wallace of Mount Weather had hired her and she had to be careful not to make any kind of face as she thought about it. She liked Dante well enough but his son was an entirely different story; it had taken some real work on her part to get him to actually kiss her in order to knock him out. Once she had she'd gone through his things like everyone else and had been disappointed to find nothing more interesting than a small book filled with large sums of numbers and initials by each one. She assumed they must be gambling debts and had nearly whistled when she'd seen them, thinking about how he was lucky he was the heir to the wealthiest family in the Kongeda if he really owed that much.  
  
She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memories from those nights as well as the panic that began to stir in her gut whenever she thought about how she'd yet to get any closer to the man responsible for her father's death. She made herself smile again, the motion automatically easier as she looked at the woman across from her, and leaned forward just a little bit.  
  
“What about you?” she wanted to know. “How have you been?”  
  
“Also good,” Lexa informed her, nodding her head. “Busy. With everyone here now I'm usually in meetings for most of the day.”  
  
“How did your hunt go?” Clarke asked her and to her surprise the queen actually rolled her eyes. “I should have known better than to bring two dozen people like that into the woods for a three day hunt. We managed to get two boars and three deer, but we easily could have gotten more if half of them had stopped talking for even just part of the time.” Really it hadn't been a terrible trip, and it had gotten her out of her morning meetings with certain lords, but the trip had made it painstakingly clear that some of those lords and ladies were the type to let others do their hunting for them. Her annoyance at the memories of people who didn't know when to stop talking wiped away as Clarke let out a light laugh and her focus crashed back to the present, lips twitching up as she watched the redhead's shoulders move with her laughter.  
  
“Well I'm sorry it didn't go as well as you wanted,” Clarke told her once she'd managed to get control of herself. She had to make herself ignore how cute it was when the queen's eyes had rolled, or how absolutely human the gesture had made her look. “But what about the tournament? How's that coming along? There's just another couple of weeks, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Lexa replied with a small nod, “and it's coming along well. The fields are being cleaned up and the deer and boar will be prepared to serve during it, along with the other food we've ordered. Everyone seems to be excited for it.”  
  
“Good,” Clarke said, “I'm glad it's coming along so well.” The queen gave another nod, doing her best to hide the feelings in the pit of her stomach away from both of them. She was as excited for the tournament as anyone else, but what had to come after it made an uncomfortable pang of anxious nerves stir in her gut whenever she thought of it. The summer was drawing to an end, which meant before long she would have a choice to make.  
  
If Clarke could see the emotions she was desperately trying to hide, she didn't say anything about it. A small silence settled over them as they both took another few drinks from their tankards, and Lexa made herself look around the room again. People were shouting at each other around the dice table but that wasn't anything new, so she began to study the people at the other tables, trying to take in everything about them. Emori was talking to a group of four men at one of the tables, two of whom were shoving each other as they tried to talk over one another, and Murphy stood at another table at the other side of the room where two older women sat. Almost everyone in the room seemed to be talking, and for some reason the noisy chaos helped settle the emotions Lexa had been trying to fight down.  
  
“What do you think their story is?” Clarke asked suddenly, nodding subtly to a young man and woman sitting at the table across from them. Lexa glanced over at them, frowning, and then gave the redhead a look. “What do you mean?”  
  
“What do you think their story is?” she just repeated, eyebrows lifting a little. Lexa watched her look over at them, studying them for a second before she continued, “I think he's a farmer from a small village miles away, maybe just visiting friends. She looks like a city girl, probably born and raised here in Polis. He's fallen madly in love with her, but she just likes the way he looks at her.” She shook her head. “She's definitely going to break his heart.”  
  
Lexa glanced back over at the two, not sure how she'd gotten any of that. She heard the girl laugh and saw the boy grin, and felt her own lips quirk up in response. “I don't think she will,” she decided, head tilting a little to the side. “I think she's going to fall madly in love right back and move back to his village with him. Or maybe he'll choose to stay in the city for her.”  
  
“Hm,” Clarke hummed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Alright, how about those ones?” she asked, gesturing to another table where three women sat. They were hunkered over their tankards, barely talking, and Lexa only looked at them for a second before she decided, “Two of them are tired from working a long day. The third is plotting how to kill her husband because he doesn't ever help with the washing.”  
  
Clarke had been taking a drink when she started speaking and had to quickly turn back towards her mug, nearly spitting the mouthful back out in surprise. Lexa grinned as she just laughed, full-bellied and long, and the sound made the queen's pulse pick up, heat rising a little to her cheeks. Once the dark-haired woman managed to get control of herself she pointed to another table and the game continued, the two going back and forth as they made up a history for many of the people in the room.  
  
They drank as they played the game, their tankards soon empty, and Murphy came over when Clarke flagged him down, bringing two more large mugs of ale to their table. Lexa knew she should probably be getting ready to leave since it was already late, but she found she was having too good a time to really think about it. The earliest thing she had to be at in the morning was breakfast with Illen, something she really couldn't care less about, so she decided it didn't matter if she was exhausted for it. They continued drinking as they went around the room, and soon Lexa's cheeks hurt a little from smiling so much.  
  
“This is fun,” the queen decided after they'd talked about at least half of the people in the room. She looked back at Clarke, both of them still smiling, and found the redhead nodding.  
  
“It is,” she agreed, dragging her tankard closer to her. “My friends and I play it a lot when we come here. Of course, between the six of us there's always a good chance we actually know a lot of the people in the room, but it still makes us laugh.”  
  
“That must be nice,” Lexa mused, glancing contentedly back around the room. “You all deserve to have some fun every now and then.”  
  
Clarke looked at the brunette, studying the small curl of her lips and the way she sat, her shoulders just a little more relaxed than usual. She knew she was lucky to be seeing it, knew that the queen seldom looked as content as she did now, and silently thanked the gods for the gift.  
  
“What do you do for fun?” she asked, still watching the other woman as she took another sip of her ale. She could feel the beginnings of its effects, the room now a little warmer than it had been when they'd sat down. Lexa looked up, her brow furrowing just a little as she thought, and then she shrugged.  
  
“I don't often have time for fun,” she mused, not seeming disappointed by the thought though it sent a pang of pity ripping through Clarke's chest. “There's always too much to do.” She thought about it for another few seconds, head tilting a little, and then must have come up with something, her brow lifting a bit. “Aden, Anya and I have been meeting a couple of evenings a week recently and debating the affairs of the Kongeda. I'm helping Aden prepare to host the audiences if I ever can't be at one.”  
  
That didn't sound like fun at all to Clarke but she didn't say anything. If she could ever forget exactly who Lexa was, conversations like this would be a painful reminder of just how many responsibilities the queen had. The brunette then smiled suddenly, the motion small but beautiful to the younger woman, and then she added, “Training; that's fun. I haven't been able to do much of it this summer with everything, but that's probably what I enjoy most. Anya's one of the few people that will actually duel with me, but I try to train with the Guard at least once a week as well.” She grimaced then, thinking about how long it had been since she'd actually been able to do that, and muttered, “Indra is going to destroy me the next time I'm actually able to do that.”  
  
“Indra's the Captain of the Guard, right?” Clarke asked, thinking about the fierce looking woman she'd seen every time she'd been to the palace. They'd never spoken, but Clarke had always gotten the impression that the woman was not someone she ever wanted to mess with.  
  
Lexa nodded. “Yes. And she doesn't care who I am, she will be just as hard on me as she is with any of her Guard.” She didn't mention how much she appreciated it, figuring Clarke would already inherently know that. She grinned again, adding, “Aden's fallen asleep more than once in his chair since he started training with her.”  
  
“I thought Anya was teaching him?” Clarke said, looking at the queen from over her tankard, and the brunette's grin fell a little even as she nodded again. “She is,” she answered. “He's her squire, but I've been having meetings every morning for the past couple of weeks so they haven't been able to work together.” She looked into the dark ale, staring at it for a second before she picked her mug up. “I've told her she doesn't need to come with me but she never listens.”  
  
Clarke could tell from the way her tone dropped, from the expression on her face that there was something about these meetings she didn't like. She frowned a little as she studied her, finding the queen still staring into her drink even after taking a sip.  
  
“Is there something about the meetings that worries Anya?” she found herself asking, curious and worried herself. She couldn't think of anything the queen would need to be doing now that would put her in danger, but just the thought of the possibility had her heart beating more quickly in her chest. “Is something going on?”  
  
Lexa let out a small, humorless laugh, mouth curling up but Clarke thought it was more of a sarcastic smile than a genuine one as the brunette looked over at her. “No, nothing's wrong Clarke, please don't worry. Anya is just protective, that's all, and seldom lets me go anywhere without her.” She looked back down into her drink, her back straightening a little again and the younger woman's frown deepened, not liking that she was practically watching the queen's walls go back up. “I have been meeting with certain... men,” she continued, needing to choose her words carefully. “One on one. Or as one on one as Anya and their own guard and a number of servants will let us.” She winced at the last bit, quickly glancing around, but it didn't seem as though anyone was paying any attention to them. Turning back to her own table, she found blue eyes on her, understanding flooding them.  
  
“Oh,” Clarke just said and Lexa nodded. The redhead bit her lip, an unsettling number of emotions swirling through her gut, one of which she identified as envy. She forced it away, reminding herself that she was the only one who actually got to spend any time alone with the brunette, and ignored the voice in her head that reminded her their time together was finite. She scooted a little forward in her chair, trying to smile at the older woman and asked, “How have those meetings been going? Anyone... stand out, I guess?”  
  
“They've been fine,” Lexa answered automatically, and then winced at the own sound of her voice. Sometimes even she was surprised with how little emotion she could show. “Most of them are nice,” she continued, trying her best to sound a little more interested. “Nyko is very wise, and we talked a lot about the healing he's learned over the past thirty years. Penn and I talked a lot about the war, and Ryder has some good plans for the Mountains. And the others are...” She shrugged, not entirely sure what she'd been planning to say, and dwindled off with just a simple, “...nice.”  
  
“They all seem like good men,” Clarke agreed, giving an encouraging nod, “I didn't speak with any of them much, but they wouldn't be bad matches, I don't think.” Lexa began to nod as she knew she was supposed to but suddenly her neck felt stiff, her head too heavy for the motion. She squeezed her eyes shut, so tired of always pretending, and felt her grip around her tankard tighten, her knuckles likely turning white.  
  
“I don't-” she began, and then cut herself off, head shaking. She swallowed thickly, terror building up in her chest like a raging beast, but when she opened her eyes and found that calming blue gaze on her it withdrew just a little. Her throat burned and she bit the inside of her cheek hard to fight it back, needing to glance away from that understanding look. She quickly brought her tankard to her lips, taking a few long gulps in the hope that the ale would help quell the storm now brewing in her chest, but it did nothing but add to the bad taste in her mouth. “They are good men,” she finally managed to say, nodding stiffly as she brought her tankard back to the table. “I'm sure any one of them would be a good husband but I don't... I can't...” She shook her head again, appalled when she felt tears burning in her eyes and had to blink rapidly to fight them away. When she spoke next her voice was small, smaller than she thought it had ever been before, and she knew without having to look at Clarke that her terror was all too obvious in it. “I don't want them. Any of them. The idea of any one of them touching me, of having to make a child with any of them...” Saying the words out loud with the way her stomach rolled nearly made her sick, and she had to clamp her mouth shut, swallowing thickly a few times to fight the feeling back.  
  
A soft hand fell over hers, and Lexa forced herself to look up, finding Clarke's hand squeezing her own. Her gaze continued further, trailing up the younger woman's arm and over her shoulder until she was looking into blue irises brighter than anything Lexa thought she'd ever seen before, and somehow the look alone managed to tether her to the moment. Without realizing what she was doing her hand turned over beneath Clarke's and she was squeezing it back, almost as though this other woman had become her lifeline.  
  
“It's okay,” Clarke murmured softly, knowing that despite the noise around them Lexa had heard. Suddenly it felt as though they were in their own little bubble, like the entire world had paused around them and they were the only ones left moving. “Really Lexa, it is. There's nothing wrong with you.”  
  
“There is,” the queen insisted but she didn't release the younger woman's hand, if anything just holding it tighter. “I'm not supposed to be... like this. I can't be. I have a duty to do. I should be, be attracted to at least one of them. Or at the very least not get sick at the thought of their touch. I can't be like this.”  
  
Clarke thought for a second, trying to come up with the best response she could give. She could see the fear staring back at her in green eyes she'd started dreaming about weeks ago, but far worse was the disgust that almost over-powered that fear. She frowned, pausing for a moment, but then said slowly, “When I was a child, I thought I would end up marrying a man. It was expected of me. There wasn't any other option, really, I never even considered anything else. I knew my parents were looking for the right husband for me, but I didn't have any interest.” A sad smile tugged at her lips as she added, “My father used to tell me I was too smart for my own good, that whatever man I ended up with would constantly be trying to keep up with me.” The memory had her swallowing thickly, fighting back her own tears, but the way the story made the queen's lips twitch made it worth it. “But then my father died and I lost my mother, and everything about my life changed. I began doing things that I, I never would have imagined I'd be doing.” She frowned, looking down at her tankard and found herself shaking her head. “The first time a woman touched me, I was appalled with how it made me feel. I had never really considered before that there was even a possibility that women...” Clarke shook her head again, brow furrowing as she tried to figure out what she was trying to say. “I hadn't realized that I was attracted to women as well as men. It isn't something that would have been allowed in my old life, and there was a part of me that thought because of that, that there must be something wrong with it. But there isn't.” She looked up at Lexa then, finding green eyes so focused on her that she could nearly count the tiny flecks of gold sprinkled throughout them. Clarke squeezed the queen's hand, grasping it tightly as she told her firmly, “Just because it isn't what's expected, or because it's different, that doesn't make it bad, Lexa. There is nothing wrong with you. You are...” She trailed off again, her voice failing her, and her throat closed up for a moment before she could force out, “...so perfect. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you're anything less than that, because you're not.”  
  
For a moment Lexa couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to find any words to say to any of that. As the redhead had spoken her heart had cracked open, pain and warmth filling her chest, and it was taking every bit of strength she had to keep the tears she could feel threatening to fall from spilling over. She lost the battle for just a second, a single tear slipping down her cheek, and she watched as Clarke's lips shifted into a soft smile. The younger woman leaned over, reaching across the table with her free hand while never releasing Lexa's grip with the other, and gently wiped the tear away. “I mean it, Lexa,” she murmured, her face now just a little bit closer to the brunette's. “You're exactly who you need to be. You have no idea how lucky the Kongeda is to have you. And I'm... I'm just really glad I met you.”  
  
“I'm really glad I met you too, Clarke,” the queen whispered, eyes wide as she stared at the other woman. “You are...” She shook her head without looking away, silently wondering how she had ever been so lucky to have met this incredible person before her. “I'm just really, really glad I met you.” Clarke smiled softly and Lexa felt her own lips mirror the look, a strange fluttering filling her stomach. They sat like that for a few minutes, just looking at each other, until something finally broke through their bubble of isolation.  
  
Two men with fiddles had stood up from the dice table, starting to draw their bows over their strings. A man at another table moved over to them with a grin, a small recorder in his hand. Many others were pushing tables and chairs out of the way, and Lexa frowned when she saw Emori and Murphy standing to the side of the room, the woman grinning as she shook her head while her husband just looked bored.  
  
“What's going on?” she asked, glancing over at Clarke, but before the redhead could say anything someone answered for her.  
  
“Sims and Heathe decided to turn this into a party,” a big man said as he lumbered over towards their table, giving them both a large grin. Lexa recognized the ashy blonde hair and charming smile from the first time Clarke had brought her here, and wracked her brain for a second before remembering his name. Cole stopped at the end of their table just as the instruments began to play in earnest, people rising from their tables to move to the cleared out space at the center of the room. “Thought I'd come over here and see if either of ya pretty ladies wanted a dance,” he continued, flashing his grin at them again, and Lexa peered by him, entirely unsure. The song that was playing was fast and one she didn't recognize, and those who'd moved to what was clearly meant to be a dance floor had started in on a dance she'd never seen before.  
  
“I'm not sure I know the steps,” she began, entirely uneasy, but then Clarke's grip on her hand tugged at her and she forced her focus back to their table. The redhead was in the process of draining her tankard, her head thrown back and Lexa watched her throat work as she swallowed down the ale, her own suddenly a little dry. Clarke smacked her lips when she finished, slamming the tankard back down on the table, and now she was the one grinning at the queen and Lexa found it far more enticing than Cole's.  
  
“Sorry Cole, we've both got a partner,” she told the man, not even looking at him and out of the corner of her eye Lexa saw the big man shrug, still grinning, before moving on to the table where the three women from earlier still sat watching the merriment. Clarke tugged on her hand again and Lexa found herself rising before she'd given her body the order, totally lost in the playful twinkle of blue eyes. “Don't worry,” the younger woman told her as she took a step away from their table, “just follow my lead. I won't let you down.” Lexa studied her for just a second, nerves sizzling beneath her skin as her cheeks heated up, but then it was her turn to grab her tankard and throw it back. There was more left than she'd realized but she went for it anyway, her lungs burning by the time she finally finished the drink and had slammed the mug back on the table, but the grin Clarke was giving her made it entirely worth it. She nodded and then let the younger woman lead her across the room, their fingers sliding into place beside each other.  
  
For a few long minutes Lexa fumbled, trying a little too hard to get the steps of the dance right. She kept glancing at the people around them, trying to copy their movements, and it wasn't until she found two couples moving almost completely differently from each other that she realized almost nobody was in time with anyone else. People were spinning each other, kicking their feet out, even jumping around, and it was so hectic and chaotic that Lexa had to shake her head, feeling fully alienated from everyone else. The dances she was used to were ones she'd been trained in from the moment she could walk, waltzes and polite, almost poetic movements that everyone made together. This was the complete opposite of that, wild and loud and fun, and it made her almost dizzy as she tried to keep up with it. It was only when Clarke pulled her closer, gripped her hand tighter, that she returned her focus to the redhead and the strangeness of it all quickly faded away. Clarke was laughing and singing along with the song, a few others doing the same now, and Lexa's chest filled with the sounds of it all. She copied the younger woman, their connected hands remaining together and their free hands grabbing the loose material of their skirts, the dresses swishing wildly with their movements.  
  
“What is this dance called?” Lexa asked, having to almost shout to be heard over the music and noise around them, and Clarke just shook her head. “Does it matter?” she wanted to know, voice just as loud, and then she tugged at the queen's hand, pulling her close and then spinning her away again. “Just have fun!” A bubble of laughter pealed from Lexa's lips at the sudden movement, and finally she allowed herself to do just that, letting every uncertainty wash away and the music of the instruments and Clarke's laughter fill her.  
  
The dancing continued as the musicians went straight from one song to another and then another. The crowd grew around them, people kicking up their feet and throwing up their hands, and soon people were pulling at new partners. Lexa found herself separated from Clarke, a moment of panic striking up through her new carefree facade, glancing nervously up at Cole who was now grinning down at her. She looked over beside her to find the redhead only feet away, already looking at her and the moment their eyes met Clarke flashed her a smile of encouragement. The queen decided to go with it, letting the man lead her into another dance, hyper aware of his touch, but when he just held her lightly and laughed along with the crowd, she slowly felt herself relax. Before long she was dancing with yet another partner and this time it took even less time for her to relax, managing to fall into the light and buzzing spirit of the crazy dance. When the musicians played a particularly bawdy song she had definitely never heard before she laughed along with everyone else, her eyes only wide for the first two verses. Another bawdy song followed it, this one about the war against the Reapers that she herself starred in, and she was glad to have somehow found herself once again clutching Clarke's hand as two men sang it loudly, crooning beside the musicians.  
  
“I never did any of that,” she informed the redhead, doing her best to keep a straight face, but at the moment it was almost impossible to do. The ale had helped give her the courage to get up and dance, but she had no doubt in her mind that it was Clarke's touch, Clarke's grin that had her cheeks aching so wonderfully. The younger woman let out a short laugh, an eyebrow rising as she shook her head.  
  
“They could only wish,” she agreed, her cheeks flushed. Her skin was warm, the reaction a combination of the dancing and the number of people in the room, but the hottest spot was where her palm pressed tightly against Lexa's, and she knew that had nothing to do with anyone else. She glanced around them, her grin growing before she called out, “Our queen is the most beautiful woman in the world! Those Reapers wish they could have been so lucky to see her like that!” A general cheer went up around them, everyone drunk and buzzing on the high energy in the room, and Clarke smirked at Lexa as the queen herself flushed at the noise.  
  
“You're wrong,” she said, speaking loudly enough that a few of the people closest to them turned, giving her a look. Lexa ignored them all, couldn't even consider looking anywhere but at Clarke as she continued, “The queen can't be the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm looking at her now.” Those who'd looked over laughed, one or two of them even whistling in agreement, but Clarke's eyes just widened a little, her heart rate picking up.  
  
“Stop,” she said playfully, the word almost getting caught in her throat, but when she saw green eyes soften her playfulness washed away and she stopped moving without even realizing it.  
  
“Why?” Lexa wanted to know, stopping as well, and she could feel the nervous fluttering return to her stomach, now just twice as powerful as before. She didn't let it stop her though, just smiled a little as she said, “It's true. You're beautiful, Clarke.”  
  
“Lexa,” Clarke began, starting to shake her head. Suddenly her heart leapt to her throat, making it hard to swallow. She could still hear the music and laughter around them but somehow it had dimmed, barely noticeable. What she did notice was how Lexa took a step closer, their bodies now nearly pressed together. The brunette's free hand moved up, lightly brushing a few strands of hair away from Clarke's cheek, and the light touch burned in a way it shouldn't have. The younger woman felt herself leaning into the touch despite the fact that her rational self told her to pull away, and her eyes closed as she tried to swallow. Opening them again the first things she saw were green eyes, and what she found in them made her hands shake.  
  
“We can't,” she tried to get out, but her throat closed around the words. “Lexa, this, we... it's such a bad idea...”  
  
“I know,” Lexa murmured, her head nodding once, eyes never looking away from Clarke's. “But I don't care.”  
  
The queen leaned forward, the hand that had brushed dark hair away now falling to cup the younger woman's neck, and Clarke fell into the kiss, eyes closing as her breath completely left her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be locking all my doors and barring my windows and possibly even burying myself in blankets for protection. I'm betting leaving you with that cliffhanger is going to drive a few people crazy. ;) If anyone wants to talk about it though, feel free to reach out to me at clarkethewanheda on Tumblr!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I think writing this chapter broke my heart in so many different ways. Enjoy!

The instant their lips touched, every trace of common sense left Clarke completely. Her mind went entirely blank, any thoughts about anything other than the feeling of Lexa's mouth on hers scattering to the winds. She lost all control of her body, suddenly finding herself cupping the queen's face in the same way Lexa still held her own, though now both of her hands were on the older woman and she had no idea when she'd let go of Lexa's hand. The kiss had started off tentative, unsure even in Lexa's certainty, and at some point Clarke had deepened it, as though she were trying to pull the other woman closer, closer, as close as she could until they were no longer two separate people but one singular soul. Nothing before in her life had been as clear to her or as delicate as this kiss, and a gaping hole suddenly opened up in her chest, one she instantly knew could only ever be filled by the brunette. Time became an obscure construct with no meaning, seconds and years passing simultaneously between the beats of Lexa's heart that Clarke could suddenly feel against her own chest. Any meaning her life had had before her lips touched Lexa's instantly changed, her world now revolving around this beautiful woman.  
  
Slowly they pulled away, and the second their mouths disconnected Clarke's lips began to tingle, a sensation she'd never known before. Her eyes opened, though when they'd closed she couldn't even begin to guess, and she looked at the woman in front of her as her heart rammed wildly in her chest. Lexa's eyes were still closed, an expression on her face Clarke couldn't quite decipher, and the redhead watched as her fingers went to her lips, touching them as though she couldn't believe what had just happened. Her eyes opened and Clarke caught green eyes brighter than she thought she'd ever seen them before, shock and maybe a little bit of awe settled deep inside them. They stared at each other unabashedly, neither entirely sure what had just happened.  
  
Music and laughter suddenly broke through the moment, ramming them back into the present, and it was then that they heard the whistling. Lexa glanced around, her cheeks suddenly flushing red when she found a number of people looking at them, grinning or clapping or with their fingers pursed between their lips and letting out piercing whistles. She was used to people staring at her, of them judging her every decision and move, but for probably the first time she felt vulnerable, subconsciously stepping closer to Clarke, and when the younger woman's arms wrapped around her she somehow felt instantly better.  
  
“Could we...” she began to ask, eyes widening a little when she realized her chest was rising and falling quickly, apparently out of breath. She swallowed, attempting to get some semblance of control over a heart that felt like it was beating as fast as a hummingbird's, and then looked back at Clarke. She met blue eyes and somehow just knew they hadn't yet looked away from her, and the thought made her flush grow. “Do you think we could go somewhere, um, more private?” Clarke gripped her side and then quickly took her hand and led them away from the dancing crowd, mercilessly pushing her way through when anyone stood in her way.  
  
“Are there any rooms available?” she asked Emori and Murphy the moment she was close enough for them to hear her. They looked at each other, Emori's lips curling into a knowing smile, but the redhead ignored it, not looking away from them. She felt Lexa's hand grip her own tightly and she gave it a reassuring squeeze before slipping her fingers into the space between the brunette's own. Never before had holding another person's hand ever felt so right.  
  
“I think we've got something,” Emori answered with a slow nod, still grinning as she took the few steps towards the counter to see what they had available in their books. Clarke could have tapped her foot in impatience as she slowly turned through the pages, relatively sure the older woman was purposefully moving so slow, but just managed to hold it back. Finally she nodded, grinning a little too politely as she looked up from the book. “Looks like room fourteen is still open if you want it.” Clarke nodded before she'd even finished talking, reaching into her pocket to draw out her coin pouch. As she began to pull her hand out though Lexa's free hand grabbed her wrist lightly and the redhead looked up at her questioningly.  
  
“Let me, Clarke,” the brunette murmured, pulling the hand away to reach for her own money but Clarke stopped her, quickly grabbing the hand and slipping their fingers together so they now held both hands.  
  
“No Lexa, please,” she replied, speaking quietly. She saw the older woman frown, obviously confused, and Clarke licked her lips. “I don't want you to pay,” she told her, not hiding anything back in her expression. “My, my customers always pay when we get a room, and you... you're not a customer.” She felt a little hitch in her throat, especially when Lexa's eyebrows rose by just a fraction, and she ended with just a soft, “Please?”  
  
There was a vulnerability in Clarke's voice, in her expression that tugged at Lexa's chest. She studied it for a second, deciding the rawness she found in the redhead's eyes was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and then just nodded. Clarke gave her a small, thankful smile and then let one hand fall back to her pocket to fish out the money.  
  
Mere minutes later Clarke was leading them up to the third floor and down the hallway, knowing exactly where every room in the inn was, and soon they were inside their own and Clarke was locking the door behind them, not wanting to take even a chance she might have to share this moment with anyone other than Lexa. The queen stood in the center of the room, suddenly nervous, and the younger woman felt a bit like a statue by the door, finding it nearly impossible to move. Swarms of nerves filled both of their chests, the realization they were finally alone hitting them both at once.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Clarke suddenly blurted out, and then winced immediately after. Lexa looked at her, lifting an eyebrow, and she continued a little more calmly, “About everyone downstairs; I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... Uh, I should have warned you. That they'd be like... that, when they saw... that.” She shut up then, mentally bashing herself for her idiotic speech; she'd grown up with some of the finest speech teachers available and then furthered her education in the streets, which meant she should be able to talk to anyone about anything with at least a little bit of eloquence, but all of a sudden she sounded like the biggest idiot ever born.  
  
Lexa apparently found it sweet though, her lips pulling up into a soft smile. “It's okay,” she told her, turning to look at her more fully. “I didn't exactly give you a chance for any kind of warning. Which I'm sorry for.” She knew that was at least a little bit of a lie, not regretting the kiss itself at all, so added with a twitch of her lips, “A little, at least.”  
  
“You don't need to be,” Clarke informed her, finally managing to get her feet to move, taking a step towards the brunette. “That was...” She shook her head, now also grinning. “You really, really don't need to be.”  
  
As though their bodies were drawn together they shifted towards each other, neither of them quite able to maintain eye contact with the other as their hearts continued to race. Lexa could still feel her lips tingling from the kiss and Clarke still hadn't quite managed to get control of her breathing, her lungs all of a sudden unable to draw enough air in. They moved slowly but even so within seconds they were in front of one another again, close enough they could touch, but neither of them dared to make that move. They could feel something in the air around them, some charge that was just waiting to spark, and the intensity of that charge almost scared them.  
  
Somehow Lexa managed to get her courage up first, reaching out between them until her fingertips were running lightly along Clarke's jawline, and the redhead's breath hitched. The queen's touch did something to her she didn't understand, sent a rush to her head that made her dizzy. Had a person's touch ever made her dizzy before? She didn't think so, and it was enough to send the room spinning as she tried to catch the breath that seemed to have deserted her down in the common room.  
  
“Hi,” Lexa murmured, almost shy, and the sound of it made Clarke's chest flood with warmth, that warmth spreading as the queen continued to just look at her with that same soft smile.  
  
“Hi,” she whispered back, reaching out and taking her hand again, and with Lexa's fingers pressed against her own she was suddenly able to breathe again. She looked down at their connected hands, a bubble of laughter escaping her chest as she thought about how absurd this all was, and when she looked up again she just managed to catch the rise of Lexa's eyebrow. “What?” she asked, and Clarke shook her head.  
  
“I don't know,” she answered honestly, shoulders giving a little shrug. “I was just thinking how strange this is. I have people touching me all day and I never think twice about it, but just holding your hand...” She trailed off, shrugging again. “I like it. That's just strange for me.”  
  
“I like it too, if it helps,” Lexa told her, her smile shining in her eyes as she looked at the younger woman. Her grip around Clarke's fingers tightened and her other hand trailed lightly down her jaw to her neck, drawing a sharp breath from the redhead. Clarke couldn't believe how sensitive her skin suddenly was, Lexa's fingers seeming to glide over raw nerves. Her eyes flicked up to Lexa's face when she caught her tongue licking her lips, and she found a green stare directed at her lips. “I also really enjoyed that kiss,” she murmured, and one corner of Clarke's lips curled up a little higher.  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, and she took another step closer until their bodies were pressed lightly against each other, and she watched as Lexa's cheeks flushed lightly. “I enjoyed it too. If you wanted to do it again...?”  
  
She didn't need to finish the proposition; the brunette's fingers slid to the back of her neck and gently pulled her forward, and Clarke happily went. Their mouths came together with less hesitation this time, and almost at the same time their eyes fell closed. Clarke could have sworn she heard Lexa sigh into the kiss and the little sound just made her deepen it.  
  
Lexa couldn't concentrate. Her mind had fallen into a repetitive loop of Clarke: the softness of Clarke's lips against her own, the grip the redhead now had on her arm, her hand moving to it the moment the kiss began. The soft hairs at the back of Clarke's neck tickling against her fingers; Clarke's chest pressed up against her own, only the fabric of their dresses between them; the soft swipe of the younger woman's tongue against her lower lip that caused Lexa's breath to suddenly hitch; the queen couldn't think of any one sensation before a new one tried to push its way to the front of her mind, and the more she felt the harder it became to think at all. Lexa had spent her life training herself in focus, in always picking up on the smallest of details in any situation, but in this she was completely helpless against it all. Their first kiss in the middle of the inn's common room had been sharp, every one of Lexa's senses intensifying beneath it, but now she was nothing but a body against the slow languid motions of Clarke's lips. She tried to return every swipe, every tug and nudge with the same passion she felt from the younger woman, but had a hard time focusing long enough to be able to. In the end she was pretty sure Clarke was just molding her however she wanted, using Lexa like clay and oh, the queen was so entirely happy to be used.  
  
They kissed for long minutes, only breaking apart long enough to draw in breaths of air before their mouths connected once again. Their noses bumped, cheeks brushed together, and everything about the kisses just felt right. Clarke could feel Lexa's inexperience solely in how she held back a little, let the younger woman take control, and something about the softness of the queen's movements made them all the more powerful. One of her hands found itself cupping Lexa's cheek gently while the other clutched against her waist, the fabric just barely bunching in her grip. Compared to the older woman's skin the fabric was rough and scratchy, and it took every bit of her control not to begin trying to remove it. She wanted to see Lexa, wanted to feel more of her, but settled for the deep and drawn out kisses, fully aware she was already the luckiest person in the Kongeda in this moment.  
  
Lexa's fingers brushed down over Clarke's jaw, down to her neck, and then fabric hit their tips. The scarf she'd tied into place before they'd left The Rig hid her soft skin and the queen nearly growled, only just holding it back before it could rumble up from her chest. Instead she softly stroked at the fabric, running her thumb over it over and over again, and she felt more than heard the little hitch the motion caused in the redhead. That hitch in Clarke's breath made Lexa smile lightly against the other woman's mouth which made kissing a little more difficult, but when that just made Clarke smile she decided that was okay. As they tried to get control of themselves and fall back into the deep kisses both of Lexa's hands fell down to the younger woman's waist, lightly gripping it as she began to walk backwards.  
  
“What are you doing?” Clarke asked quietly, the words barely getting out as she refused to fully pull away from the other woman's mouth. “Shh,” Lexa shushed against her, the exhalation of air hitting Clarke's lips, and then her own followed right along behind it and any other questions were sealed away. She kept going backwards, trying to focus on the space around them but in reality unable to really think of anything but the feeling of the redhead's tongue as it now brushed against her upper lip, so when her legs hit against the bed she wasn't quite ready for it. She must have been walking faster than she realized because the force of the impact threw her off balance, and then she was falling backwards, pulling Clarke down with her. They tumbled onto the bed in a graceless heap, and Lexa might have been embarrassed if she hadn't suddenly felt light vibrations coming from the younger woman's chest.  
  
“Graceful,” Clarke joked, giving Lexa a look as she picked up her head so it wasn't nestled against the queen's shoulder. With the way they'd fallen the queen laid beneath her, her long hair splayed out against the mattress and the sight took her breath away.  
  
“Always,” Lexa replied, feigning indignation as she lifted her chin, but Clarke's weight on top of her made it impossible to keep up the charade. When the other woman just shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips, she couldn't manage to keep her own lips from doing the same. She looked at Clarke for a moment, taking in the many details she could make out by the light of the hearth and the few candles burning around the room, and felt her heart swell. “I like this,” she murmured, hoping she would understand just how true the statement was, and the redhead's smile softened before she leaned down, capturing her lips again.  
  
“I do too,” she whispered against them, eyes closing as her hair tumbled over them as though it were blocking them from the rest of the world, and she didn't even care when a couple of strands got in their way, sticking to their lips. She cared even less when it just made the queen laugh.  
  
Clarke's hair fell around her face, a few strands getting stuck between their mouths and Lexa laughed, too happy in the moment to find any problems with any of it. She reached up, using a finger to gently slide dark hair back behind the other woman's ear, and then it was her turn to deepen the kiss. Her arms reached around Clarke's waist to hold her tight against her, and after a moment she took a play from the younger woman's book and gently ran her tongue along Clarke's bottom lip, surprised when she then opened her mouth. Clarke slowly and gently coaxed her forward and Lexa followed her lead, feeling an entirely new sensation open up in the pit of her stomach as her tongue poked past the younger woman's lips. She explored tentatively at first, unsure, until she'd managed to get her confidence up, and then Clarke barely had to lead her at all.  
  
Feeling Lexa's tongue brush against her own sent a sensation like lightning through Clarke's chest and into her stomach before it traveled even further down. She pressed her thighs together, a need slowly rising between them, and tried to ignore it. When Lexa's tongue finally retreated her own followed it, and then it was her turn to explore. She felt the queen's grip against her back tighten a little as they kissed, and the feelings of her fingertips digging lightly into her dress only made it harder to ignore her desire. Soon she broke their mouths apart and was kissing down the brunette's jaw, lightly nibbling and suckling along her skin, and the little puffs of breath coming from Lexa's chest only encouraged her, until soon she was doing the same down the soft skin of the queen's neck.  
  
Clarke's mouth felt like a brand against Lexa's skin, a gloriously wonderful brand that she only wanted more of. She couldn't catch her breath and couldn't even begin to care about it, eyes closing as her head fell a little to the side in an automatic response to the younger woman's lips. She wanted to feel them everywhere, wanted to know what it felt like to have Clarke's touch against her, and just the thought of it had shallow, fast breaths pulling from her chest. All at once she let go of the younger woman's waist, her hands quickly making their way to her jaw and cupping it lightly before she guided Clarke's mouth back to her own. The redhead didn't put up any kind of a fight, seemed more than happy to be led back to Lexa's lips, and the easy way they came together made the queen more sure than she'd ever been about anything before.  
  
“Untie my dress,” she whispered against the redhead's lips. “Please.”  
  
The soft words didn't fully translate for Clarke for a moment. The corners of her lips pulled up for a second, imagining the brunette bare beneath her, imagining what it would feel like to trace her fingers and lips down her body. She imagined Lexa's expression when she had her bare, when she softly settled herself between those long legs. The way her eyes would close when her fingers slipped inside her-  
  
All at once Clarke pulled away, her heart thudding in a mad panic against her chest. She'd let her imagination get carried away, allowed the moment to get carried away, and had almost forgotten how terrible an idea all of this was. She glanced down at Lexa as she rolled to the side to get off of her, finding surprise and a little hurt in her expression, and desperately wanted to wipe it away. She couldn't quite keep herself from reaching out and gently running a finger over her cheek, and then the hurt was gone and only surprise remained.  
  
“I didn't,” Clarke began, needing to stop to clear her throat. Either the kissing or Lexa's words had caused her throat to go dry, making it hard to get the words out. “I didn't bring you up here for sex, Lexa. Just so, so we could talk. Alone.” She flashed her a little grin then, adding, “I figured it would be better to do that here than in some dirty alley somewhere.”  
  
“Oh,” Lexa just said a little dumbly, brow furrowing as she sat up. She glanced over at the redhead, finding blue eyes studiously watching her, and she bit the inside of her cheek before she asked, “You don't want to? Have sex with me, I mean?”  
  
Clarke let out a single, incredulous laugh.  
  
“I would have to be actually insane not to want to,” she answered dryly, giving her a look as one eyebrow shot up, but then the expression fell away as she frowned. “But you're... And I'm...” Her hands gestured uselessly between them, trying to help her get her point across, but even with their help she couldn't quite get it out. She let out a long, exasperated breath before glancing up at the ceiling. “You deserve so much better than me, Lexa. And with who we both are, it just wouldn't be... I mean, kissing is one thing, but sex...”  
  
Lexa's expression softened, finding the way Clarke was rambling to be one of the cutest things she'd ever seen. Suddenly she reached up, a finger moving to press against the redhead's lips to silent her, and then even as blue eyes widened in surprise she closed the space between them, pulling Clarke in to a long, slow, deep kiss. She could feel the younger woman fall into it, now even leaning a little more heavily towards the queen, so that when Lexa pulled back a little bit her upper body actually fell an inch or two before she caught herself.  
  
“I firmly believe there is no one better than you, Clarke,” she informed her, a glimmer twinkling in her eyes as she smiled slightly, and she was pleased to see the younger woman's cheeks brighten just a bit. “You are the most interesting, most confusing person I have ever met. In one of the first conversations we ever had you compared my title to your profession and that is one of the least confusing things you've ever said to me.” She said it as a joke, inviting Clarke to share in her smile, and was rewarded as the other woman ducked her head, lips pursing as she tried to fight against it and failed. Lexa's head tilted to the side then, her smile falling away a little as she studied the redhead a little more closely. In all of Clarke's rambling she had never used any specific details, had not once even really hinted that the reason they couldn't be together was due to her title, and the knowledge of that burned a little at the back of the queen's throat. Even now, locked away together with nobody else around Clarke was still protecting her, still watching what she said in order to keep the brunette safe, and Lexa had to swallow thickly around a hot lump in her throat. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the other woman's shoulder and then took her hand, letting her fingers slip into place around Clarke's.  
  
“I know what my duty is,” she murmured quietly, the joking from a second ago now entirely gone. “I know what to expect from my future. I will do what I have to for the good of my people, I just... I want to feel your touch. I want to have this memory, to know what it's like to enjoy being in another person's arms.” She looked up slowly, finding blue eyes on her, serious and honest, and all she wanted was to get lost in them. “Please, Clarke,” she whispered, and neither of them missed the little break in her voice, “I want you. Even if now is the only time I can ever have you, I want you, and I want you to have me. If you want me.”  
  
Even the idea that she could possibly not want this beautiful woman was preposterous, so preposterous Clarke might have laughed if Lexa wasn't looking at her with those big green eyes that glistened with uncertainty. ... _Such a bad idea_... a voice in the back of her mind whispered but for once Clarke ignored it, let the mad beating of her heart guide her, and she found herself leaning forward. She captured the queen's lips without any preamble, no warning whatsoever, and let the force of the kiss wipe away any and all of the brunette's doubts as well as her own.  
  
“I want you,” she breathed against Lexa's mouth, gasping for air as the older woman's fingers threaded into her hair. “Gods Lexa, so much.”  
  
“Clarke,” she heard the queen say, her name almost soundless except that Lexa was so close to her she could feel it on her breath. They kissed again, long and soft, each tethering themselves to the other to help them wash their individual fears away.  
  
The next time they broke for air, Clarke pulled back just far enough to look into the older woman's face, catching Lexa's eyes as they slowly opened.  
  
“If at any time you're uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me,” she said, holding that green gaze she knew with complete certainty she'd never be able to get out of her mind. “If it feels like I'm pushing you at all-”  
  
“It doesn't,” Lexa informed her, giving a little shake of her head. “And it won't. I know what we're doing, Clarke.” The dark-haired woman scanned her face for just a second, trying to read everything there, and then nodded. “Okay,” she just said, and then she stood up, pulling just far enough away from Lexa so she could look down on her. Without breaking eye contact with the queen she reached behind her, easily undoing the simple laces of her dress, and the moment it was loose enough she shrugged herself out of it, letting the dark dress pool at her feet on the floor. She could see the hitch in Lexa's breath as the fabric dropped away, and when green eyes almost inadvertently dropped down her body, for the first time in years Clarke felt a tingling sensation in her stomach. She thought she'd completely gotten used to being stared at bare, but Lexa's eyes raking over her skin caused goosebumps to form along her arms before she'd even been touched. With a completely dry mouth she stepped out of her shoes and then pulled off her hose, and with them went her smallclothes, leaving her completely bare before the queen but for her necklace and the scarf still tied around her neck.  
  
There was no question at all: the moment the shoulders of Clarke's dress fell away, Lexa's brain short-circuited. By the time the dress hit the floor, she couldn't even manage to form a coherent thought, and then the last of her clothing was gone as well and even breathing became a challenge for the poor queen. Her lips parted, unaware that she was already beginning to breathe heavily, and no matter how hard she tried not to stare it was all she could manage to do. Her eyes scanned over the most beautifully pale skin she'd ever seen, the freckles she found peppered across it only adding to its outstanding beauty. She had little to compare her to, but Lexa knew without a doubt in her mind that she was gazing on the most beautiful creation the gods had ever made, and that she was in no way worthy. She could do nothing but stare as she tried to take in every detail of the body before her.  
  
The corners of Clarke's lips lifted just a tad as she watched Lexa's eyes flickering over her. She glanced down and found the queen tightly grasping at the bed sheet beneath her and had to press her thighs together as she thought of those fingers touching her. Lexa's attention zoned in on the movement, her lips parting a little further, and Clarke could have sworn she saw green eyes glaze over a bit. Without saying anything she stepped forward, moving closer to the bed, and as she did the queen's eyes jumped up to her face, widening as they met her own.  
  
“Give me your hand,” Clarke told her, holding out her own to the older woman, and she saw Lexa gulp before she did as she'd been told. The redhead guided it to her body, trying not to let the shudder she felt show the moment she felt soft finger pads brush against her skin. She guided Lexa's hand to her stomach, more goosebumps rising along her skin beneath her touch, and she watched as the queen just stared at their hands. Clarke bit her lip, wanting to take this slowly but also needing a little more, and then she lifted Lexa's hand up and pressed it against one of her breasts, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the pressure against the soft flesh. Almost better than the touch was the sharp breath she heard Lexa take, and after a moment her fingers began moving without any guidance, her thumb brushing over the redhead's nipple and Clarke had to bite her lip to keep a tiny moan in.  
  
“So soft,” she heard Lexa whisper, and then as her thumb brushed back against her nipple Clarke opened her eyes again, looking down to find the queen gazing up at her. There was something there, something hidden far away at the back of her eyes that stole Clarke's breath away even harder than the touch did, and quickly she looked away, afraid her own eyes may be reflecting the same thing. When Lexa stood up though her gaze was immediately drawn back to her, especially as the brunette's other hand went to her chin, lifting it a little. Looking back at the older woman's face, she found a soft smile curling at her lips, and suddenly it was harder to look away than it was to meet a green stare that somehow instantly relaxed her. “You're beautiful, Clarke.”  
  
Compliments like that, whispered in sincerity, weren't what she was used to. If any of her customers ever spoke of her looks, it was as something they owned, proud that they just got to fuck a woman with decent curves and a nice face. Her friends would joke about it sometimes, rolling their eyes and smirking as they commented on the number of people always asking for her services, but they never took each other very seriously. She could see it in Niylah's eyes sometimes, read her thoughts in her expressions, but the woman knew better than to add voice to any of those thoughts; they would only serve to make the redhead run away faster, always afraid of how attached her friend was and concerned with how she was just leading her on. In her old life she'd been complimented often, by family members or friends or people who simply wanted to suck up to an heiress, but never before had such a simple word held so much weight to it, and Clarke had to swallow to fight down the butterflies that suddenly swarmed around her stomach. She shook her head, not knowing what to say to it, so didn't acknowledge it at all. Instead she stepped closer, running her fingers down the queen's shoulders, and then whispered, “Turn around, Lexa.”  
  
Lexa shuddered slightly beneath Clarke's touch, every ounce of control she'd built up within herself throughout her lifetime having flown out the window the moment the younger woman's dress hit the floor. She didn't entirely know what she was doing except that it felt too incredibly right to stop. Clarke's fingers running over her arms, her breath on her skin, made her heart beat wildly in her chest and her mouth entirely dry, but the last thing in the world she wanted to do right then was stop. She would do whatever Clarke told her as long as this fluttering in her stomach continued. With one more brush of her thumb across the redhead's nipple she did as Clarke said, turning around so she faced the bed and had her back to the younger woman. She expected Clarke to just untie the lacing of her dress as her hair was gently pushed over one shoulder, so then gasped when she felt lips press against the back of her neck, lightly sucking along the skin. “Clarke...”  
  
Clarke undid the back of Lexa's dress as she pressed kisses against the side and back of the queen's neck. She knew she'd said she wanted this, could tell from the way her chest rose and fell in short breaths that she truly did, but she also understood that the older woman would be nervous. She remembered her own nerves, her fear the first few times she'd been naked with another person, and though the difference was Lexa truly wanted this, she knew the queen would still be tense. She did her best to alleviate those nerves, trying to distract her until the last lace came untied. Once it did she pressed one more soft kiss to Lexa's neck and then took a step back, giving the other woman space to make the decision of whether or not to undress.  
  
Lexa picked up on what Clarke was doing quickly despite the hazy fog in her mind and felt her lips twitch. Turning back around she met the redhead's eyes, only briefly shocked again by the sight of her naked body, and then began to tug at the sleeves of her own dress. She could feel her heart ramming in her throat but didn't stop, pulling and tugging until the sleeves had released her and the top of her dress had fallen down, revealing her chest. She didn't look up at Clarke, afraid that if she did the burning of her cheeks might make her pause, and just stared down at her dress and the floor as she wiggled her hips loose, pushing the fabric until it fell away entirely. Quickly she stepped out of her shoes, neatly setting them to the side, but when she went to remove her hose and smallclothes she paused, her fingers freezing beneath the band at her waist. She wanted to take them off but couldn't quite make herself, her own nerves stopping her. Clarke must have understood, because before she could be embarrassed in her half-nakedness the redhead had stepped forward, her arms wrapping loosely around her.  
  
“And you called me beautiful,” she joked, obviously trying to help the queen relax. “Gods Lexa, have you even _seen_ yourself?” She pressed a little closer, her lips hovering by one of the brunette's ears and whispered, “I really do have the most beautiful queen in the world.” That made Lexa blush, smiling despite herself, and she just shook her head. She pressed her forehead to the other woman's shoulder for a second, somehow feeling more supported in that little touch with Clarke's arms around her than she could ever remember feeling before, and then finished undressing, pushing her hose and smallclothes down her legs and stepping out of them. When she stepped back, breaking out of Clarke's arms to let the other woman look at her, she glanced up and away again, feeling the heat in her cheeks increase. She'd only been standing there for a few seconds when Clarke grabbed her hand, tugging her close and then kissed her hard. “Like I said,” she got out before the one kiss turned into two, “most beautiful queen in the world.” Lexa couldn't quite hold back a whimper as the force of the kisses mixed with the words, and she clung to the other woman, vastly aware of everywhere their bare skin touched.  
  
The queen's whimper, light and barely audible, did something to Clarke. She had spent the last six years of her life hearing every sexual noise imaginable, but none of them had ever affected her like that little whimper did. An overwhelming need to hear it again filled her, her body aching for it, and she began kissing the queen even harder. As they kissed she let her hands roam along Lexa's back, fingers dragging lightly over taut skin and tangling with long hair, and the more her hands moved the tighter the brunette clung to her. She could feel the tips of Lexa's fingers digging lightly into her back, probably not even aware of how hard she was holding onto the younger woman, and a fresh wave of arousal washed through Clarke as she imagined how tight Lexa's grip would be while she was inside her. The thought had her pressing her thighs together again as a heat built between them, and then she was quickly leading the other woman back towards the bed.  
  
This time Lexa somehow managed to keep track of where the mattress was, so that when the back of her legs hit it she didn't go toppling over. With Clarke's mouth still pressed against her own she tried to shift backwards, not wanting any inch of their bodies to disconnect from each other, but in the end she had to push away just a little or risk falling back unceremoniously. Clarke followed her onto the bed, the two shuffling up along it until the redhead had Lexa pressed lightly against the wooden headboard, and trapped between it and Clarke's warm body the queen's heart beat began to skyrocket. The other woman barely seemed to notice it, her lips moving along Lexa's jaw again to press kisses along its length and then shifting down her neck, and the brunette's back arched just a little as she felt fingers fall against her sides, gripping her lightly.  
  
“Have I told you how much I love your jaw?” she heard Clarke ask, the words broken up by her lips still pressing inconsistently against her skin. “So sharp, so regal. And your neck.” Lexa felt a light nip at her neck and drew in a sharp breath, eyes closing as her chest heaved slightly. “It's so long and smooth. I wish I could kiss it every day.”  
  
“Clarke,” Lexa muttered, doing her best to keep the breathlessness out of her voice and only being so successful. The redhead made no notice to it, acted as though she hadn't heard, and continued down to the queen's chest. Here she pulled back a bit, letting herself look at this new sight, and Lexa felt herself blush a little beneath the look, a small part of her wanting to cover herself up but holding back. She looked at Clarke's face, finding her gorgeous blue eyes staring unabashedly at her breasts, and no amount of water in the world would have helped to moisten her dry mouth in that moment. Lexa shifted a little on the bed, the apex between her legs uncomfortably warm, and the younger woman's focus shifted down. A slow, certain smirk began to tug at Clarke's lips, and then she leaned forward, one hand falling to rest lightly against Lexa's thigh, the brush of her thumb across the skin setting Lexa's entire body on fire.  
  
“We'll get to that,” she murmured, leaning forward and breathing the words against the queen's ear, the move not in the slightest bit helping to douse that fire and instead only making it harder to ignore. “I want to appreciate all of you though, so you're going to have to be patient.”  
  
“Clarke,” Lexa whined, shocked by the high-pitched noise that came out of her mouth, and if it wasn't for the way blue eyes flashed at it the queen would be ashamed. As it was however Clarke's grip on her thigh tightened momentarily and her thumb brushed along her skin again, and all Lexa could do was try to control her breathing.  
  
“Shh,” Clarke whispered, her breath tickling against the queen's ear. “Just let me look at you.” The brunette gave a quick nod and received a light kiss as a reward, somehow quieting a little beneath the younger woman's lips.  
  
When she pulled back again, Clarke let herself gaze down at the woman in front of her, having to fight to remain calm. She'd never seen anyone as beautiful as Lexa or ever wanted to touch anyone more than she wanted to in this moment, but she couldn't just fuck the queen and be done like she'd done with so many others. Lexa's body had been built to be appreciated, to stare at in wonder and awe, and honestly she was just honored to have the privilege to do just that. Naturally tan skin stretched out before her, and every time the brunette shifted even a little bit Clarke could see how muscular she was despite her slender build. Many of the nobles she'd slept with hadn't bothered with keeping their bodies in shape, not needing to since they had guards and hunters and servants who did all kinds of manual labor for them, but Lexa clearly wasn't one of them. She'd told her that she trained with Anya and the Guard, and the way she always carried her sword made it clear she knew how to use it, but if Clarke had ever wondered how often she worked with it she didn't need to anymore; a tight stomach and strong arms spelled it all out for her. Above that tight stomach was the most beautiful pair of breasts the redhead had ever seen, a little small in comparison to her own but absolutely perfect on Lexa. Darker nipples had already peaked as she'd stared, reacting to either the look or Clarke's touch, and her mouth watered to close over one and give it the attention it so rightfully deserved.  
  
“Slowly,” she decided out loud, the word nothing more than a mutter between them. From her periphery she noticed Lexa's eyebrows lift just a hair but she didn't have the ability to shift her focus in that moment. With little warning she leaned forward and began to pepper kisses along the queen's shoulders, enjoying the light sheen of sweat she found along her skin, and as her lips moved one hand reached up to gently cup one of Lexa's breasts. She felt the quiet gasp the older woman let out beneath her hand and brushed her thumb over her nipple, just wanting more. As Lexa began to breathe heavily beneath her Clarke let her lips trail down her clavicle and then continue south, stopping when she reached the queen's other breast. She pressed a few light kisses against the soft skin and then let her mouth close around the nipple, letting her lips twitch up as a sharp gasp tore from Lexa's throat. Carefully she began lavishing the bud in her mouth with her tongue, using her forefinger and thumb to roll the other one, and with every movement she could feel Lexa begin to breathe harder and harder.  
  
“Clarke,” the queen groaned, her hands falling to the younger woman's waist and squeezing lightly. She couldn't quite form a coherent thought with the redhead poised over her lap and giving her breasts such wonderful attention, and she found herself clenching her eyes shut. All she wanted was to be able to make Clarke's heart beat as fast as her own was beating, or make her stomach keep dropping the same way her own was doing, but she wasn't sure how. Never had she been in this kind of a situation before, and even alone she'd seldom tried to pleasure herself. Every time she had it had all just felt strange and a little wrong, so she hadn't bothered with it much. Now however she wanted to know more, wanted to make Clarke feel everything she was feeling, and found herself shaking her head to try to fight through the fog the redhead's actions were causing to build in her mind. “I want... I want to touch you.”  
  
She couldn't be sure with her eyes closed, but she thought she felt Clarke smile against her breast. She flattened her tongue against the queen's nipple one more time and then pulled away, shifting so that their faces were at the same height again. Lexa swallowed thickly and then opened her eyes, finding blue eyes darker than she'd ever seen them before and the look Clarke was giving her made her clench her legs again.  
  
“Then touch me, Lexa,” she just said, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a little grin. “I'm right here. You can touch me wherever you want.” Without meaning to the queen's gaze fell to the little patch of hair she could see peaking out from between Clarke's legs, a little lighter than she might have expected it to be but nothing but perfect, and her stomach dropped even more and somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered just how much more of that she would be able to take. She heard Clarke let out a little chuckle and tore her gaze away from it, her cheeks hot as she glanced back up to see the redhead grinning at her. When she did Clarke met her eyes, brow rising a little as she told her, “You can touch me there, if you want. That is definitely okay.”  
  
As much as she wanted to, Lexa shook her head, deciding that Clarke had been right earlier and that slow was the way to go. Instead she let her fingers trail slowly up her stomach until they bumped lightly against the bottom of one of the dark-haired woman's breasts, and her eyes flickered up when she noticed Clarke bite her bottom lip. Nervously she kept going until she held the younger woman's breast in her palm, the flesh the softest thing she'd ever held before, and then she lightly swiped her thumb over the nipple. Clarke took a sharp breath through her nose and then Lexa's other hand joined her first, now holding both breasts. She gripped lightly, palming the flesh, and glanced back and forth between her hands and the younger woman's expression as she moved. Clarke's eyes were now half-lidded as Lexa tried rolling her nipples between her fingers as the redhead had done to her, and the way her breaths steadily grew faster had the queen's own quickening as well. She decided suddenly to throw caution to the wind and leaned forward, quickly taking a nipple into her mouth and sucking it firmly, and all at once Clarke's hands flew to her scalp, fingers burying themselves in her hair. The grip instantly spurned the queen on, until she was switching periodically between swipes of her tongue against the bud and light suckling.  
  
“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke groaned, her head dropping a little bit until her forehead pressed against the top of the queen's head. The groan made the brunette suck a little harder and her grip on Lexa's hair tightened automatically. “Fuck, you're really good at that.” The encouragement spurned the queen on, growing bolder with every second that went by and Clarke just held onto her hair and groaned lightly into the movements.  
  
It took no time for Lexa to decide she loved Clarke's breasts. Clarke's eyes were her favorite part of the redhead's physical appearance, but gods did she now love her breasts almost just as much. Their weight felt perfect in the queen's palms and the little sounds Clarke made as she squeezed and sucked on them had to be the loveliest noises Lexa had ever heard. She pampered them with attention, deciding it was her duty to love and spoil them for as long as she possibly could. Clarke's necklace kept bumping against her nose but she just ignored it, too focused on what she was doing to let anything interrupt her.  
  
Finally something did interrupt though, and when she felt it her eyebrows shot up as she broke away to look down between them. Clarke was hovering over her lap, one knee on either side of her legs, and often when either of them would move their thighs would press together. This time when they did Lexa felt a little wetness coating the redhead's skin, and when she looked down she could just barely make out the glisten of dampness clinging to the inside of Clarke's thighs. One hand fell down to run gently over the dampness and her breath caught in her chest when she felt the younger woman just barely shudder above her.  
  
“Have you-” Clarke began, but then had to swallow before she could get anything else out. She closed her eyes for just a moment, silently scolding herself for reacting so much to Lexa's touch; she was never at a loss for words or unable to speak with anyone else, but the brunette made it impossible to focus on anything but the heat growing incessantly between her thighs. “Have you ever touched yourself?” Eyes opening again, she found the queen's cheeks a bright red, her eyes glancing briefly up at her before dipping back to the patch of hair between her legs again.  
  
“Very little,” she admitted, unable to hold the other woman's gaze, but then one of Clarke's hands slipped down to cover her own where it still rested against her thigh.  
  
“That's okay, I'll guide you,” Clarke told her, trying to sound more calm than she actually felt. She had never wanted to be fucked so badly in her life, but she waited patiently, not moving until Lexa's hand started shifting on its own. Once it had she grasped it a little tighter, drawing it higher up her thigh as her legs naturally spread further apart. She positioned herself so that her fingers could guide the queen's, and she bit her lip as she pressed Lexa's palm against her.  
  
The older woman drew in a sharp breath when she felt Clarke's heat against her palm. She couldn't believe how hot she was, or the little bit of stickiness coating the fine patch of hair. Clarke let her cup her for a moment before she gently pushed her pointer finger forward, and now it was Lexa's turn to bite her lip as she sunk just a little into that heat.  
  
“Mmh,” Clarke let out, the noise barely discernible but Lexa was too close to her not to hear it, and it only made her heart ram all the more ferociously against her chest. The redhead didn't let it slow her down, guiding the queen's finger until Lexa felt a small bump beneath the pad of her finger. “A lot of women get pleasure from this,” Clarke informed her, doing her best to focus on her words and not the feeling of Lexa's finger bumping against her clit. “I'm definitely one of them. If you draw circles over it, or rub or pinch it a little, it's ah, it'll make me wet. More wet.” She waited for a moment while Lexa tested it out, hesitantly rubbing the pad of her finger over the nub, and had to lock the muscles in her legs so she could still hover over the queen's lap. Once Lexa seemed to be confident with that she guided her further down, eyes clenching shut when just the tips of their fingers slipped inside her. “A lot of women also get pleasure here,” she informed her, knowing full well Lexa must be able to hear the tightness in her voice. “Usually you have to kiss or touch them elsewhere for them to be wet enough to easily slide in but uh, I'm, I'm wet enough you, you shouldn't have any trouble. Just, just start with one finger, I'll let you know when I'm ready for more.”  
  
Lexa's head felt dizzy, Clarke's words and the heat against her finger making it hard to breathe, but she nodded as the younger woman stopped talking. She couldn't begin to understand how she'd ended up here with Clarke hovering over her lap and her hand between her legs, but neither could she begin to care. All she knew was that they were here in this position, and Lexa was going to make absolutely sure she made the best of this moment. She honestly didn't think it could get much better than it already was, but then Clarke removed her hand and Lexa's finger slipped a little further into her, and all of a sudden it was a thousand times better. Wet heat clung to her finger and the brunette's heart jumped to her throat, almost choking on it as Clarke let out a little noise. Her hands flew up to Lexa's shoulders, grasping them tightly, and then her face was buried against the queen's neck. Lexa could feel her hot breath on her skin as her chest rose and fell quickly, and it all only served to spurn the queen on. She kept pushing forward until her finger was in as far as it would go, and she let out her own groan as she felt hot walls clench around her.  
  
“Fuck,” she groaned out and then pulled back a little before pushing back in, and Clarke let out another noise, this one a little sharper than the last. In that moment Lexa could think about only two things, the heat around her finger and Clarke's noises, and she began pumping into the redhead over and over, getting more of both.  
  
“Lexa,” Clarke panted out after a minute or two, shaking her head slightly against the queen's shoulder, “more. Please, two fingers.” The queen nodded, brow settling as she worked to give the other woman what she wanted, and was only a little surprised when Clarke's body readily accepted both fingers. It was a tighter fit but not any more difficult to move, and the moan Clarke let out with the first thrust made Lexa's pulse race. She picked up her pace, shifting a little so that the angle was a little easier on her wrist, but knew no matter how uncomfortable she might be she could never even begin to think of stopping while Clarke was moaning so beautifully against her.  
  
“Yes Lexa,” she managed to get out every few thrusts, gripping desperately to the queen's shoulders, “so good. You're so good.” With every thrust of those long fingers something in her gut twinged, her entire body tensing more and more and just waiting to break. Somehow she knew this time there would be no picking up the pieces after she came undone, no way to put herself back together, but she couldn't even begin to wonder why she should care. Lexa's fingers filled her so wonderfully, every now and then hitting against the spot inside her that made sparks fly across her closed eyelids, and all she wanted to do was find a way to bring them even closer together. Her breasts were pressed against the queen's, head buried into the crook of her shoulder, and the only space between them was so that Lexa could easily adjust the angle of her wrist, but all Clarke could think of between thrusts of those devilishly talented fingers was finding a way to merge their bodies together even more fully.  
  
Clarke's words only made Lexa move faster, made her more determined to make the younger woman feel everything possible. As her fingers slid into her again her hand shifted with the movement and she felt her thumb brush against something, a second later identifying the bud Clarke had shown her first. The older woman thought about what she'd said about it, specifically about her own reactions when it was touched, and this time when she thrust in again she purposefully brushed her thumb over it, adding a little pressure. The added stimulation caused Clarke to moan loudly, her muscles clenching tightly around Lexa's fingers, and the queen grinned to herself at the reaction. She began rubbing against it, testing out different patterns all while two fingers continuously pumped into the redhead, and listened as a string of moans fell from Clarke's lips. Her free hand gripped at the younger woman's waist and she looked down their bodies, falling into almost a hypnotic trance as she watched her fingers disappear over and over again into her. She never wanted to stop, never wanted to be in any situation other than this one, but the more her thumb rolled over the bud and the louder Clarke's moans got, the tighter her muscles began to clamp around Lexa's fingers. She could feel the air crackling around them, felt the energy spiking, but still wasn't ready for it when Clarke finally broke.  
  
Lexa's thumb circled her clit a few times, probably unknowingly teasing against it, and with every circle Clarke could feel the band inside her getting tighter and tighter and tighter until finally the queen pressed against it at the same time her fingers plunged into her, and the band suddenly snapped. Clarke's back arched, head flying away from the queen's shoulder and she could feel herself clamp around the other woman's fingers. Her muscles spasmed and her head tilted back, a long silent moan ripping from her throat. Lexa's thumb continued to rub against her even as it slowed, and the continued stimulation only drew out the orgasm, her entire body shaking. Clarke could feel wide green eyes on her but couldn't even begin to focus on them, her mind an explosion of color more than thoughts. Finally she began to come back down from her high, her chest heaving, but she continued to cling around the fingers inside her as Lexa's thumb brushed against her clit in small, wide circles.  
  
“Lexa,” she panted, one hand dropping to grasp desperately at her wrist, “stop, please.” The queen immediately did, worry suddenly clouding her expression, and Clarke shook her head, lips just barely twitching up. “It's fine, just, just too much stimulation. Just need... a minute.” To emphasize her words she let her fingers slip into the spaces against the queen's, squeezing her hand briefly to assure her everything was alright.  
  
The queen watched Clarke pant before her, absolutely in awe. Red hair was splayed over pale shoulders, some of it sticking slightly to her sweaty skin. Her necklace bounced lightly between her breasts, her chest expanding as she tried to get control over her breathing. She sat more heavily against Lexa now, apparently no longer having the energy to hold herself up, and when the queen shifted her legs slightly beneath her it made her jump a little, apparently sensitive enough that even that small brush of skin to skin contact could affect her. It was a sight Lexa knew she would dream about until the day she died, and she looked forward to every single one of those dreams.  
  
“That was...” Clarke began, her voice a little rougher than usual, and the sound dropped straight to Lexa's gut. She shook her head once as though she needed to clear her mind, and then the queen watched as her lips curled up into a grin. “Very impressive.” Clarke leaned forward a little more, a devilish glint in her eye. “I know you already have a job, but if the queen thing doesn't work out you would make a very good whore.” Her brow lifted, the joke tucked into the corners of her mouth, and Lexa fought to keep a straight face, her own lips twitching.  
  
“Thank you,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, “but I don't think there's any way of getting out of the queen thing.” She thought about it for a moment and then scrunched up her nose, adding, “Plus I wouldn't enjoy the majority of the customers who asked for my services, so I'll stick with my title.”  
  
“Good point,” Clarke agreed, deciding not to tell her that it wasn't the whore who was supposed to enjoy the service. The night was far too incredible to taint with reality at the moment, so instead she leaned a little more forward until her forehead was pressing lightly against Lexa's. “Besides, I think I might get jealous if I had to think about you in anyone else's bed.”  
  
“How do you think I feel?” Lexa muttered, not quite meaning to say the words out loud, but since they just made the dark-haired woman laugh she was glad she had. She felt one of Clarke's hands trail lightly down her arm, fingers brushing against her skin, and her heart skipped a beat. “Tonight I'm all yours,” the younger woman whispered, lips hovering less than an inch away from Lexa's. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.” The queen couldn't agree more, but rather than say as much she let her actions speak for her, quickly pressing forward until their mouths came crashing together for what could have been the dozenth or the hundredth time. The number didn't matter, all Lexa knew was that it wasn't enough. She had a feeling she could spend the rest of her life kissing Clarke and it would still never be enough.  
  
Clarke's eyes fluttered closed as Lexa's mouth shifted against her own, their lips fitting together just so naturally that the kiss was almost too easy to fall into. The queen was ruining her, she could feel it; nobody else's touch would ever make her shudder like Lexa's, nobody's lips would ever capture hers as fully as Lexa's did. The older woman had a natural way of making Clarke's heart skip a beat and a flush spread along her skin, and she had a feeling no one else would ever be able to cause the same kind of reaction. Even more than her own responses to Lexa though, Clarke knew there would never be another person she wanted to affect so badly. She had never touched another person because she craved the whimper drawn from their lips or the way their breath caught in their chest. She had never truly cared about the rising heat along another person's body before or the way she could feel muscles clench or loosen beneath the pads of her fingers but with Lexa she found the responses made her own heartbeat pick up. As their kisses intensified and her fingers brushed down the queen's side, she became acutely aware of every little noise or move the older woman made and Clarke found herself craving more. Lexa intoxicated her senses more than any drink ever had, and the longer she touched her the more of her she wanted.  
  
When she felt the queen shift a little beneath her, clenching her thighs together a little, Clarke decided it was time to get more of her. Lexa had done a beautiful job of making her feel and now she absolutely craved to return the favor. She gave the brunette one more long, hard kiss, and then broke away, pulling back just a little so she could look at her. Half-lidded eyes glanced up at her, their green so dark it sent a fresh burst of arousal coursing through her, but she ignored the feeling and dropped a soft kiss to the center of the other woman's chest.  
  
“Lay down,” she murmured, carefully extracting herself from over the queen, “It's my turn to make you feel good.” She could feel Lexa's breath hitch, looked down at them when she noticed the brunette's hands clench into a tight fist momentarily, and then the next second they had loosened again and she was shifting to do as Clarke had ordered. The redhead watched as Lexa slid down the headboard until only her head now rested against a pillow, and she had to bite her lip at seeing the queen laying fully exposed before her. Her fingers had already curled around the bedsheets in a tight grip, her nerves playing openly along her expression, and her legs were still held tightly together, but all Clarke could think about was how stunning the older woman looked. She half laid down beside her, her head hovering over the other woman, and whispered, “I know I've already said it Lexa, but I'm going to say it again: you are absolutely beautiful.” One hand slipped down between them to gently grasp at Lexa's and instantly the other woman took her hand, their fingers slipping back into place beside each other.  
  
“I'm... a little nervous,” the queen admitted, cheeks heating up a little at the admission, but Clarke's soft smile sent a warmth spreading through her chest that immediately helped. The other woman's hand squeezed her own before she told her, “That's okay. I'll go slow, but like I said, if you ever want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.” Lexa nodded but didn't think she'd ever want to stop feeling Clarke's touch no matter how giddy and nervous it made her feel. The redhead kissed her once, the contact soft, pressure barely there, and then she shifted and Lexa watched her intently as she moved on the bed. She ended up down beside the queen's legs, still pressed uncertainly together, and her hand reached out, fingers trailing down her thighs to her calves and then back again. The light touch sent a spark shooting down Lexa's spine and then before she even realized it her legs had parted just a bit. She caught Clarke's little grin before the dark-haired woman bent down and pressed a kiss to her hip bone and Lexa's hips jerked slightly at the touch.  
  
“Oh yeah, you're going to like this,” the younger woman decided, tossing the queen a partial smirk. Lexa couldn't think of a reply, too busy wondering if it was possible for her cheeks to get any hotter. Clarke patiently guided her legs apart with light touches and soft kisses, until there was enough space between them for her to fit. She quickly took this new spot she'd worked for and looked down Lexa's body, the quick rise and fall of her chest and deep red of her cheeks awakening something inside her. All at once her only goal in life was to bring this other woman to the peak of pleasure, and fuck if that wasn't exactly what she was going to do.  
  
That didn't mean Clarke was going to make this easy for Lexa; no, if this was going to be the only enjoyable sexual experience she might ever have, she was going to make damn sure to draw it out. Now nestled between the brunette's legs she barely even let her gaze drop to the patch of hair directly in front of her, glancing at it for no more than a second before letting her focus drift up the other woman's body. Her fingers were once again clenching the sheets in a tight grip, her breasts rising and falling quickly, and the second Clarke's eyes fell on them she couldn't tear them away. Quickly she leaned over, her hands coming down to brace herself on either side of the queen's body, and without any preamble her lips closed again around a straining nipple. She heard a sharp gasp pull from Lexa's lips but all but ignored it, focusing her attention on the little bud in her mouth. She couldn't wait to close her lips around another little bud, her mouth watering a little just at the thought, but didn't let her attention drift for even a second. Lexa shifted a little beneath her as she suckled and swept her tongue around it, more sharp breaths breaking through her lips, but Clarke ignored it all in favor of her work. She nipped and teased the nipple for a couple of minutes and then switched over to the next one, always a firm believer of giving equal attention.  
  
“Clarke,” she heard Lexa groan lightly as her lips closed around the other nipple, and then she felt the brunette shift a little and her hands moved to her back. Fingers dug lightly into her skin and Clarke could have groaned herself from the pressure. Instead she sucked a little harder against the nub between her lips, delighting in it as it just made Lexa's grip tighten. “Please,” the queen got out, and the dark-haired woman looked up without stopping her work, finding green eyes clenched tightly shut. She roughly pushed her tongue against the nipple, drawing wide circles around it, and then finally released it. “Please what, Lexa?” she wanted to know, enjoying this game probably a little too much. The queen just shook her head, apparently unable to find the words at the moment, and Clarke couldn't quite hold back the smirk that tugged at her lips.  
  
She didn't give herself very long to enjoy Lexa's inarticulateness; after just another second she dropped back down, this time letting her mouth land between the other woman's breasts. Her lips and tongue ran over her skin, delighting in the slight perspiration she found there, and dipped down between the valley and then placed gentle kisses along the slight curves of her breasts. She then continued down, trailing her lips along the brunette's stomach while her fingers gently brushed up and down Lexa's sides, and the more they moved the more goosebumps she felt grow along the queen's skin. By now the queen could barely take in a breath without gasping even just a little, and the noises mixed so amazingly well with the taste of Lexa's skin that Clarke was pretty sure she now knew what heaven must be like.  
  
Correction: she had a taste of what heaven must be like. She didn't experience heaven itself until she began shifting back up Lexa's body. In their impatience the older woman's hips jutted up suddenly, lightly brushing against Clarke's abdomen, and her eyes widened and mind went blank when she felt a little trail of dampness suddenly coated against her skin. Clarke couldn't catch herself in time to hold back her own small groan, the noise mixing with Lexa's.  
  
“Clarke, please!” the queen said again, more of an urgency in her voice this time, and the sound of it managed to push through the haze that had spread through the redhead's mind the moment she felt Lexa's dampness against her. The younger woman shook her head, doing her best to clear her thoughts, and looked down their bodies. Even in the dim light she could see dark curls glistening with Lexa's slick, and Clarke's mouth instantly went dry, all moisture now pooling between her own thighs. Her body's needs meant nothing in this moment however, and she found herself moving back between the brunette's legs without even thinking about it. Apparently she'd teased both of them long enough.  
  
Once she was firmly settled in place between Lexa's legs, Clarke let herself stare unabashedly at the sight before her. The queen's shyness had apparently wiped away as she'd peppered her body with kisses, because now her legs hung eagerly open, her lips just parted enough for Clarke to see a little bit of pink hiding away beneath dark curls. Just a little bit of slick had dampened the curls as well as Lexa's thighs, and the redhead swallowed hard at the thought of what the other woman would taste like. She could feel the queen's eyes on her now, could sense the intensity of her stare and the buzzing energy in the air came almost to a stand-still as they both stared, the moment paused in time.  
  
The moment didn't remain paused for long. Clarke reached out, letting one hand rest gently on Lexa's thigh and pressing a little bit against it, both to reassure her and make sure she didn't try to close her legs, and the other hand moved to those curls. Her thumb swiped slowly along her slit, her own eyes closing at the feeling of Lexa's wetness finally burning against her skin while the queen let out a loud groan, the most audible one yet. Clarke had every intention of just increasing the volume from the other woman, and felt herself grin a little as she shifted her hand a little, letting one finger sink down between her lips.  
  
Lexa's head snapped back the second she felt Clarke's finger slip between her legs. She felt hot, almost as though her body were on fire, but nowhere was she hotter than beneath the younger woman's touch. Butterflies and nerves wracked through her stomach but as she felt that finger swipe over what she knew had to be the nub between her legs, lightning sparked through her, racing down her spine and embedding itself in her gut. Clarke's finger began drawing patterns over and around it and she tried to wiggle away, the touch almost too intense for her to take. The pillow and headboard made it difficult to go anywhere, as did the redhead's grip on her thigh, but she was pretty sure that was a good thing; as much as her body wanted to shy away from the touch it also craved it, and she could feel a desperation slowly begin building in her chest she didn't quite understand.  
  
“How does it feel, Lexa?” Clarke asked her, and she had to shake her head a little in order to focus enough to understand them. “Good,” she managed to answer, breath puffing out around the word, “it feels... it feels good.” She caught the other woman's smile, almost able to return it, until Clarke's finger shifted and her eyes widened as she was hit by an entirely new sensation.  
  
Clarke didn't take her eyes off of Lexa's face as she slowly entered her, acutely looking for any signs of discomfort. The last thing she wanted was to hurt the other woman, so she took her time, moving inch by inch as her finger sunk inside her. The pace itched at her, the delicious heat she could feel and the amazing clench of Lexa's muscles begging her to move faster, but she held herself back. Other than surprise followed by a small arch of the queen's back, she found nothing she needed to worry about, and soon she'd entered the other woman as fully as possible. She bit her lip hard, absolutely in love with the way Lexa felt around her, and pulled almost completely out before sliding back in again, this time a little more smoothly.  
  
“Claarke,” Lexa groaned, just barely drawing out the younger woman's name, and Clarke loved it. She pumped in and out of her in a few quick successions, making Lexa's hips jump up to meet her, and watched as the queen's mouth hung open just a little. After a minute she carefully added a second finger, Lexa's muscles adjusting wonderfully around the little extra stretch, and drank in the sound of the queen's long moan. There was something she wanted to drink in even more though, so after a few more pumps she shifted back on the bed until she found its edge. Quickly she stood up, her fingers slipping out of Lexa for a few torturous seconds as she repositioned herself, and the cry that broke from the brunette's lips at the loss had her heart skipping every other beat before she could manage to get it back in control again. Once she was kneeling on the floor she reached out, tugging lightly against Lexa's thighs to get her to move down the bed, and immediately the queen moved to accommodate her. She looked up the older woman's body to see her leaning on her elbows, her upper half up just enough to give Clarke a quizzical look. She returned the look with a smirk and then reached out, wrapping one arm around one of Lexa's thighs and quickly pumping her fingers back into the other woman. Before the queen really had time to react her mouth was on her as well, and Clarke let out a long groan as she finally tasted Lexa on her tongue. Absolutely. Fucking. Amazing.  
  
A moan ripped itself out of Lexa's chest as Clarke's lips seemed to immediately clamp around her clit, and her arms gave out beneath her. She fell back against the bed, her back arching so that her hips pressed harder against the younger woman, and nothing but sparks managed to fire across her mind. Two fingers pumped in and out of her swiftly, barely ever giving her muscles time to cling to them, and a talented tongue played against her as though Lexa's body were its instrument. She'd never even imagined this kind of pleasure before, had never known until this moment it could possibly exist, and all she could do was try to somehow hold herself together while Clarke worked so very diligently to break her apart. Before she even knew she was moving her hands slid down her body to wrap themselves in burgundy hair, and she gripped onto it as though it were the only thing still keeping her tied to this world.  
  
The grip in her hair only spurned Clarke on harder. She pumped her fingers relentlessly in and out of the queen while her lips sucked against her clit, far too enthralled with her own work to realize she'd begun to just barely drip down her own thighs. Lexa's muscles clung around her and her taste flooded her mouth as her cries flooded her ears, and nothing in this moment could possibly ever pull her focus to anything else. Lexa consumed her even as she consumed Lexa, and somewhere in the back of her mind she feared they'd somehow tumbled into this cycle they would never be able to break out of. Another voice whispered about how she didn't want it to break, but she was too busy with the queen's pleasure to even notice it.  
  
“Clarke! Fuck, Clar-ke!” Lexa cried, her hips jutting helplessly against the redhead as her body swarmed with sensations. Her heart had begun to skyrocket in her chest, beating too crazily to even try and follow, while something strange built lower. A high-strung something tightened more and more and more in her gut, building with every swipe of the other woman's tongue and pump of her fingers, and Lexa's back began to arch as it burned inside her. She didn't know what to do, her senses too sharp to be able to ignore it, and the power of it all nearly scared her. Whatever it was began to twist and her hips twisted with it but Clarke's iron grip refused to let her go anywhere. She was about to call out a warning to the younger woman, afraid of what she felt building, but before she could Clarke sucked particularly hard against her clit and whatever it was snapped. Lexa imploded, her back snapping back to the mattress, and her hips jutted helplessly as she shook her head. “Clarke!”  
  
The queen's muscles absolutely _squeezed_ against Clarke's fingers and her heart nearly stopped at the pressure before she felt a flood of wetness streaming down them. Fingers practically tore at her hair and she might have winced if the sight before her wasn't so spectacular. She looked up Lexa's body and watched her break, head slamming into the mattress and hips moving sporadically against her. Her chest filled with it all, every last detail, and she had to grip the queen's thigh tightly to control her emotions. Nobody had ever looked so absolutely stunning in the throws of an orgasm before, and Clarke couldn't believe she'd been the lucky one to witness it. Finally when Lexa's body stopped shaking and went still she pulled her fingers out of her but only so she could lap at the copious slick that had dripped down the queen's lips as she'd quaked. She heard Lexa whimper as she cleaned her up, felt her thighs shift around her head, and gave one final long lick before forcing herself to pull away, Lexa's fingers untangling from her hair. She let herself just stare up at the older woman from her place on her knees at the end of the bed, entirely in awe.  
  
It took longer than Lexa would have expected to get her breathing back under control, her chest almost shaking from the power of her orgasm. Her eyes were closed, still too dizzy from the power of her release to immediately open them, and she could feel the heat from her flushed skin radiating off her. Because of her trembling senses it took her a minute to realize she couldn't feel Clarke against her anymore nor did she feel a dip in the bed around her, and she finally managed to crack her eyes open. She found the younger woman still kneeling between her legs at the end of the bed, now sitting back just a little, and felt her thumping heart jump to her throat when she recognized the awe staring so openly back at her.  
  
“What?” she somehow managed to croak out, her voice slightly hoarse from the level of her cries earlier, and the reminder of them just made her bite her lip. Clarke shook her head as though she were shaking off some sort of stupor, and then Lexa watched as a slow soft smile grew on her lips. “Nothing,” she replied, still not getting up, “I just... can't believe how beautiful that was. I've never... It just isn't usually that beautiful to me. It's never been, actually.”  
  
Lexa shifted uncomfortably, the words making her heart ache even as she tried to ignore it. As much as she absolutely loved what Clarke had just done between her legs – another thing she knew she would be dreaming about for the rest of her life – now that it was over for some reason seeing the younger woman on her knees like that made something in her gut squirm. It was a beautiful picture, the redhead framed by the flickering light of the hearth on the other side of the room behind her, but the position reminded her far too much of a reality she was trying desperately to ignore in this moment. She pushed herself back up on the bed until she was leaning against the headboard again, and as she moved said, “Would you, um, like to join me?” Clarke frowned for a second and then looked down at herself, and Lexa was happy at least to see a light blush spread across her own cheeks before she quickly stood up and climbed back up on the bed. By the time she met Lexa that blush was gone, and something inside the queen seemed to sigh in relief as the dark-haired woman leaned against her, their naked bodies pressing innocently together.  
  
“So what did you think?” Clarke asked, giving her a little grin. Her gaze scanned over Lexa's face, trying to read everything in her expression, but all the queen could really focus on was the dampness she saw smeared across the other woman's chin. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if it would ever be able to function normally again. “Not bad for your first time?”  
  
The queen let out a little laugh, an eyebrow raising. “If that was considered mild to any other time, it might be good we'll only be able to do this tonight; I'm not sure I would survive it if this continued.” Her own gut twisted unhappily at the joke even as she smiled slightly, and to ignore it she reached out, gently wiping her thumb across the younger woman's chin.  
  
Clarke's heart dropped at the reminder of their time limit, but she wasn't about to let it ruin what was otherwise the only perfect night she'd ever experienced. She glanced down at the thumb wiping at her chin, grinning when she realized what Lexa was doing.  
  
“Do I have something on my face?” she joked, her voice dropping a little lower than normal, and she was rewarded as the queen very clearly bit her lip, her eyes flashing. She managed to hold onto her control however, that one eyebrow lifting another centimeter as she replied casually, “Just a little. Just here.” She tapped her thumb against her chin, and then moved it up to hover over her lips. “And here.” Lightly she brushed the pad of her thumb over Clarke's lips, her own lips tingling with jealousy at the touch, but when the redhead's mouth opened and her teeth closed softly around her thumb, just barely applying any pressure, her stomach dropped. A little smirk tugged at the other woman's lips and then she released her thumb, wiping her chin with the back of her arm before she shifted closer, huddling into the other woman's space. Her head fell to Lexa's shoulder, blowing out a big puff of air as brown hair tickled her face, and the queen turned into it, her chin resting against the top of Clarke's head.  
  
“So,” Clarke began after a minute or two of comfortable silence, “I bet you didn't expect any of this to happen when you came into the city tonight.”  
  
“No,” Lexa agreed with a small laugh, shaking her head without moving away at all, “not at all.” She closed her eyes as she pressed a little closer to the other woman, adding, “I wouldn't change any of it, though. Tonight was...” She trailed off, unable to think of a word that accurately described it, and felt Clarke nod against her shoulder.  
  
“It was,” she replied, not needing the description to know it was right. She sat up so she could stretch her back, and then moved to lay down more fully. Lexa watched her and once she was settled Clarke reached over, lightly grabbing her hands and pulling her over. Now the queen laid against her, her head resting on Clarke's shoulder and their legs tangling together. Lexa closed her eyes, breathing in the redhead's scent, and then tucked her face more fully against the other woman. She frowned when her skin rubbed against cloth, and opened her eyes to see the linen scarf still tied around Clarke's neck. She hesitated a moment and then let her fingers begin running over it, keeping the touch light. She thought about her next words for long seconds before she finally asked, “Could I... could I take this off you?”  
  
Clarke frowned at the question, a few dwindling nerves sparking back up in her gut. The deep bruising that had been painted around her neck had faded over the past two weeks, dark angry colors now just a pale mixture of yellow and brown, but she still tried to keep it covered up. She knew her friends at The Rig only believed her story of a rough customer so much, and it hadn't been hard to read the anger and concern on Lexa's face when she'd first seen it at the palace. The last thing she wanted to do in this moment was invite herself to more questions about it or see any pity on the queen's face, but after a second she just nodded. Lexa gave her a small, encouraging smile and then nimble fingers tugged lightly at the knot in the fabric. Clarke just held still while the brunette fought with it, trying not to let her worry show as it was finally pulled away from her skin and dropped to the bed behind Lexa. She didn't look away from the queen's face as green eyes dropped to the newly exposed skin, the discoloration probably only just visible in the flickering light, and waited for the pity she expected. Instead, after a moment Lexa just leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss to the center of her neck, and then settled herself back against Clarke's shoulder. The younger woman had to blink quickly to keep a sudden tear from falling, the tiny motion almost meaning more to her than anything else that had just happened in the last hour. Almost.  
  
For a little while the two simply rested there with each other, Lexa pressed against Clarke's chest as Clarke's arm wrapped around Lexa's back. The redhead's eyes closed, entirely too content in the moment as every muscle in her body seemed to relax, while the brunette's stayed open, taking in every detail of the pale skin mapped out right in front of her. A silver chain laid against Clarke's chest, the familiar blue pendant nestled neatly between her breasts, and Lexa's fingers traced lightly over it. When the younger woman didn't move to stop her she fiddled lightly with the pendant, studying it more closely now that it laid freely right in front of her.  
  
“This is beautiful,” she murmured eventually, turning it around in her fingers. “Where did you get it?”  
  
“It was a gift from my father,” Clarke answered easily, her eyes still closed. She was too comfortable in the moment to try to spin any new lies, and at the moment at least this truth wouldn't hurt her. She could feel Lexa shift lightly against her, her eyes probably widening a little before she said, “He must have been quite the merchant. This looks like it would be very expensive.”  
  
“He was,” the younger woman replied. “He was always really good at anything he set his mind to.”  
  
“Sounds like you take after him,” Lexa joked, glancing up at her with a smile, and once again Clarke had to fight down a tear or two. She shook her head a little, trying to wipe away words that were the greatest compliment she'd ever received so she wouldn't get emotional, and gave the queen a little smirk. “Were you afraid some noble gave it to me? Someone trying to win my affection? A lover, maybe?” Lexa's nose scrunched up, the look answer enough, and Clarke let out a light laugh. “Don't worry Your Majesty, no one else is trying to win me over.” Both Niylah and Finn's faces flashed across her mind and she winced before correcting herself. “Well, at least no one else I want. You're my first real lover, I guess.”  
  
Lexa was quiet for a second and Clarke thought the conversation had ended, about to close her eyes again when she heard the other woman whisper, “I had another lover, once.” Clarke's eyes widened and she shifted, just enough so she could easily look down at the queen who shifted a little under the look. She didn't pull away but she did lift her head up a little, her brow furrowing ever so slightly as she added, “Maybe I can't call her a lover. All we ever shared was a little kiss.”  
  
“I-” Clarke began, blinking in surprise, but then she noticed the way Lexa looked away and back again, and she could read the uncertainty in her eyes. Suddenly she knew the other woman had never talked about this before with anyone, so she wrapped her arm a little more firmly around her back. “Would you tell me about her?” Lexa glanced up at her, eyes flicking across her face, and then nodded.  
  
“Her name was Costia,” she began, looking back down at Clarke's chest. She began fiddling with the pendant again, the small stone somehow helping to calm her. “She was a servant in the palace who often helped me dress. She started working there when I was fifteen, and after a while we began talking while she helped me. She liked to tell me stories about her home; her parents owned a small farm and she was the oldest of four children.” Lexa's lips curled up, shaking her head a little at the memories. “I enjoyed the stories, mostly because she enjoyed telling them. I loved when they made her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh.” Her eyes closed, and if she focused hard enough she could almost remember the musical timbre of the sound that had always managed to make her smile. “After a few months I started asking for her help more and more, just so I could be around her. She smiled as though she knew what I was doing but never said anything about it. We couldn't be together of course, but,” she shrugged, finally glancing back up at Clarke, “that didn't seem to matter much when it was just she and I. I finally kissed her one night just before she was about to leave.” One corner of her mouth pulled up, as though she were sharing a secret with Clarke, and the redhead found she couldn't look away from the brightness shining in green eyes that were becoming far too dangerous for her. “I've never quite forgotten what that felt like.”  
  
“What happened with you two?” Clarke asked quietly when Lexa's story trailed off, and she almost regretted asking when the queen's expression shifted, looking away again. Her fingers ran lightly along the brunette's side for reassurance and she nearly let out a sigh of relief when she felt the older woman press a little closer to her.  
  
“She had to go back to her family,” Lexa answered and shrugged one shoulder. “She got a letter from her mother saying her father had fallen ill and they needed her help on the farm. Her siblings were all younger and they needed someone to help with the animals.” She shrugged again, looking back at Clarke, and the younger woman could see her trying to fight down a little twinge of hurt as she continued, “I knew she needed to go, but I hoped she would manage to stay in contact.” The look buried in her eyes told Clarke the answer to her next question, but she had to ask it anyway. “She didn't?”  
  
Lexa shook her head.  
  
“No,” she answered quietly. “I waited for a few months for a letter, but never got any. Finally I decided she must have been too busy with her family and stopped waiting. She probably found someone else, someone she could actually be with.” She tried to make her voice lighter, forcing a slight smile as she said, “It was for the best, anyway. It never could have lasted between us. She went home, and shortly after I started traveling to bring the Kongeda back together. It was the way things needed to be.”  
  
The story struck up a note of familiarity between them, and Clarke frowned as she studied the queen's face. She could tell Lexa was trying so hard to act as though the loss of her first love hadn't affected her, trying to show nothing but a strong front, but Clarke could see past that without even needing to try. The sting of Costia's rejection, her silence, was clearly still felt all these years later, and the back of Clarke's throat burned as she fought to swallow it down. Without any warning she wrapped her arms around the queen and turned them over, Lexa's eyes widening as she was suddenly turned on her back with Clarke now hovering over her.  
  
“I can't give you forever,” she told her, and the brunette was surprised to hear sorrow clear in the other woman's voice, unhidden, “but I can give you tonight. I wish it could be more, but for tonight at least I can pretend nothing else exists but this. If you want?”  
  
The words punched a hole in Lexa's chest, and before she knew what was happening a tear leaked from the corner of her eye, gliding over her skin to drop in brown hair splayed out beneath her. She wrapped her arms around the back of Clarke's neck, pulling her closer, and stared into sincere blue eyes as their foreheads pressed together.  
  
“I'd like that,” she murmured, the words quiet in the air around them, and then she pulled Clarke even closer. “I'd like that very much.  
  
Clarke nodded against her, forehead not lifting away from Lexa's, and then she leaned down, pressing a long, promising kiss to the queen's lips.  
  
Maybe they couldn't guarantee each other anything more than this one night, but that didn't mean they couldn't make this one night last for a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Was the cliffhanger worth the wait?


	18. Chapter Eighteen

“Let's _go_ ,” Raven groaned, rolling her eyes at Bellamy's slow pace. He kept looking over his shoulder and slowing them down until finally she reached out, grabbing his arm and tugging him behind her. “Quit stalling, she's not coming.”  
  
“You don't know that,” he argued, looking back over his shoulder again, “maybe she changed her mind and is just running late. We could wait another minute.”  
  
“Face it Bell, Octavia has too much fun practically killing herself with the Guard,” she said, giving him a look. “She's not gonna skip out on training to come with us to the city.” She paused then, not even trying to hide her smirk as she added slyly, “She wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to get sweaty with Lincoln just for us.”  
  
Bellamy scowled and her smirk grew, knowing that was exactly why he'd been hoping his sister would join them. They'd been in Polis for just a little over a week and in that time they'd both watched the younger brunette get closer to the lieutenant, the two spending a good portion of every day together. Most of that time was spent training with the rest of the Guard, but listening to Octavia gush about him at night made it pretty clear to Raven that there was a lot more than just their mutual love for sword work between them. It seemed Bellamy had picked up on it as well, and to absolutely no one's surprise he wasn't happy about it. He'd always been overprotective of her, so despite the fact that she was almost twenty the idea of his little sister with the Guardsman obviously irked him. Raven had decided Octavia and Lincoln deserved some time to do whatever they were going to do without the possibility her brother might just show up so had suggested a trip into the city. The plan had the dual benefit of getting her out of the palace and making it so that Octavia owed her – a win-win for her.  
  
“They barely know each other,” Bellamy grumbled but finally turned back around and Raven could stop tugging at his arm. She grinned and elbowed his side, telling him, “That doesn't seem to be slowing them down any. Gotta admit, I'm a little jealous of O; Lincoln is a good-looking guy.” She wiggled her eyebrows at her friend and he just rolled his eyes before one corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. “What are you doing looking at him? You and Lady Anya seem to be spending an awful lot of time together.”  
  
Raven scoffed, waving a hand at him. “Please, she could only be so lucky. I just piss her off when the queen makes her show me around the library more.” She failed to mention that the night before when she'd shown up to find the queen, prince and lady sitting around the hearth just like most nights Anya had gotten up on her own to meet her. She even thought she'd caught a twitch of her lips every now and then between rolling her eyes, and decided not to think about how fun it was to push both reactions out of the older woman. Anya was without a doubt beautiful and terrifying with her dark eyes and knife-like jawline, and Raven knew she'd happily jump at the chance of having a little fun with her, but she didn't expect it to happen. It was abundantly clear the most important thing to the lady was her duty to protect the queen, and the brunette guessed that duty likely extended to her duties to her family. For all she knew Anya had a husband and kids somewhere, though she'd never heard anyone say anything to suggest it, and even if she didn't Raven doubted she would ever have any real interest in a nobody like her. Just because she traveled with nobles didn't make her one, and everyone knew that any kind of relationship between the classes could only end badly.  
  
Bellamy gave her a look, his disbelief obvious, but didn't push it. “Whatever you say,” he just said, holding up his hands in surrender, “All I'm saying is you go to that library a lot, and even you can't read that much.”  
  
“If we had a library like that in Arkadia I'd never leave it,” Raven insisted, eyes getting a little dreamy as she thought of all those books. Growing up with the Griffins meant she'd been taught to read early on, and from day one she'd loved everything about it. She'd combed through just about everything in their library, so walking into the queen's the first time was almost like stepping into heaven. Bellamy just shook his head beside her and then the two lapsed into silence, nodding to the few Guards working the front gate of the palace. They all returned the nods and let them through, and for the first time since their arrival in Polis they left the great compound and began the trek into the city. 

***

Wells glanced down at his cards, looking over them once before glancing back up to the other people sitting around the table. Micah was staring at his own cards, his brow drawn in concentration as he tried to decide if he had anything. Beside him Jon leaned back easily in his chair, trying to give off an air of confidence that told Wells he definitely didn't have a good hand. Anson and Laena both managed to stay straight-faced, giving little away, but Anson tapped his cards on the table and Wells could feel Laena's leg bouncing beneath the table. She had a good hand, he didn't.  
  
He'd been coming to these games for weeks now and recognized all of their tells. He tossed a single copper piece into the center of the table, meeting all of their eyes as they glanced over to them, and waited for each to decide whether they were in or out. As he'd suspected, Jon went it and so did Laena, while Micah and Anson both sighed, dropping their cards on the table. The three in showed each other their cards, and Laena grinned as she helped herself to the few coins in the center of the table while Jon groaned.  
  
“Lasses shouldn't gamble,” he grumbled, tossing his cards down. She just turned her grin on him, saying, “Yeah, cuz we win and take your money.” He didn't dignify that with a response, just shot her a look, and then accepted his cards as Anson began to deal out a new hand.  
  
Wells grabbed a copper piece from the little pile on the table in front of him, tapping it lightly on the wood as he waited for his cards to be dealt. He didn't care for gambling, didn't really care for cards though he'd found he was relatively good at them, but the games always provided him with information. He always played with a mixture of city folk and servants of the visiting nobles so as not to rouse suspicion, and in just weeks he'd learned more than he really knew what to do with. Unfortunately nothing yet had panned out about Emerson, but he was always patient, just waiting for the moment someone would let the name slip.  
  
“How is the palace, Micah?” he asked as his last card was placed in front of him, and then he looked at them, pretending to be more interested in them than the answer. Micah was barely eighteen but was a manservant to Lord Thames of the Shallow Valley and Wells knew he'd accompanied his lord to the palace only the day before for a meeting with the queen.  
  
The boy shook his head, his black curls bouncing in front of his eyes until he pushed them to the side of his face. “Still big,” he answered, busy looking at his cards and rearranging them in his hand. “I got lost yesterday when my lord was in his meeting.” He glanced up over his cards, giving the table a mischievous smile. “I was supposed to stay in the hall while he was busy, but it was too good a opportunity to pass by. I musta turned down one too many halls though, cuz I didn't know how to get back. I was lucky one a the palace servants went by and told me how to get back 'fore Lord Thames's meeting was out.” His grin grew as he shook his head again. “He'd a whipped me once or twice for leaving when I was supposed to stay put.” The boy didn't seem at all fazed by the punishment he narrowly avoided, his attention just turning back to his cards.  
  
Jon snorted beside him, giving the boy a look as the side of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. He was older, probably in his mid-thirties, and his head was perfectly bald, so much so that Wells had heard Micah joke more than once about the glare he gave off when he was too close to a lit torch. “He shoulda caught ya. A little whippin' every now and then is good for the young, keeps ya from gettin' inta trouble. That's how I keep my boys trained.” Jon was the lead hostler for Lord Costa and Wells had learned early on his bark was worse than his bite. He might act gruff and talk a big game, but when it came to those under his care he was nothing less than protective of both people and horses. Micah had learned the same thing and just shot the older man another grin, not cowed at all by his words.  
  
Their game continued and Wells very carefully kept the conversations going. Laena was a maid from the Blue Cliffs and talked about traveling with Lord Nyko and the bits and pieces of gossip she'd heard from him and the other Blue Cliff nobles. Anson was a stable boy at one of the local inns that the Delphi nobles were staying at and complained of the messes the lords and their soldiers made in his stable. To them Wells was a traveling merchant and he told stories of his own run-ins with nobles, using stories from his own past to pull from or entirely making things up. He listened more than he spoke, always waiting for the one name that would finally lead he and Clarke to their revenge, but like every other day the name never came. He played cards at their table for another hour, everyone drinking down the ale the tavern owner brought over to them, but then before long Jon was throwing down his cards, muttering about how he needed to be getting back to his horses, and Micah followed along stating he should be getting back to his lord. Their group slowly dissipated and Wells scooped up the little pile of coins in front of him, carefully returning them to his coin purse and tucking it into his pocket. He kept a couple on the table for the tavern owner and then left, nodding a farewell to the others before stepping back into the city.  
  
Wells looked up, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun as he determined the time. It seemed to be about an hour after mid-day judging by the position of the sun and the jostling in the streets, so he decided he might as well get a bite to eat. His stomach growled then as though it agreed with the decision, and he headed down the street to where he knew a vendor sold skewers of rabbit with colored peppers. There was a short line at the stand so he waited, shutting the world out as he went over plans for the afternoon in his head. He could try to find another game of cards in the hopes of learning more and maybe finally locating Emerson, but he'd learned that most of the lords' servants were busy during this time of day. Far more people would be out looking for a game of cards or dice later in the evening once they'd finished tending to their lords' needs, so it might just be better to wait until then. Until then he could sneak out of the city and into the woods and practice his sword work. It had been a couple of days since he'd been able to do so, and he could feel himself getting stiff. Ideally he would train with Clarke so that they both had someone to work with, but they didn't have plans to meet again for another few days. Ever since their fight against the strangers at the Dropship they'd been very careful not to spend more time together than necessary, cautious about drawing any kind of attention to themselves and their relationship. He knew it was for the best, knew that keeping some distance between them supposedly helped keep them safe, but he hated being apart from her for so long. He'd never entirely been able to accept her role in their search for the men who killed Lord Jakob, still absolutely despised what she had to do, and it always felt like he was deserting her when they were this close but he couldn't see her. He had sworn years ago to protect her, and leaving her alone and vulnerable like she was worried him to no end. Clarke was tough, he knew that, and more resourceful than anyone else he knew, but he still hated leaving her on her own.  
  
The line in front of him had thinned and he stepped up to the stand as the last person in front of him left. “Two please,” he told the vendor who said nothing in return, instead just turned and grabbed two skewers from where he had them hanging. Meat sizzled on an iron grill behind the vendor, flames leaping up between the iron to lick at the meat, and the pieces stuck in the wooden skewers the man was handing to him still steamed. Wells fished in his pocket for his coin purse and took out a few copper pieces, getting ready to hand them over.  
  
“Come _on_ Raven, you've been staring at those tools for almost an hour.”  
  
Wells froze as he reached out to drop the coins into the vendor's palm, instantly recognizing that voice. Against his better judgment he found himself turning in the direction it had come from, and sure enough found Bellamy and Raven only a few yards away. Bellamy had a hand gripped around Raven's bicep as he practically dragged her out of a store, the younger woman arguing the entire time. “It has not been an hour, Bell, and I only need another couple of minutes! I saw a pair of tongs in there that are absolutely _beautiful_!”  
  
The meat vendor was saying something to him, but Wells didn't hear it. All he could focus on were the people who had at one time been his friends now so close to him, and his entire mind shut down. He was supposed to be dead and they were right there, and all he could do was stare. Raven tugged once more against Bellamy's arm, clearly trying to go back inside the tool shop, and Wells saw him roll his eyes even as he shook his head. He then did the last thing Wells wanted at that moment, and took a look around him. Bellamy's eyes swept around him and past Wells, and then the next second he was doing a double-take.  
  
Wells didn't wait for him to look again: the moment he saw Bellamy begin to look around, he ran. He could hear the vendor yelling after him but he just sped away, dropping the skewers of rabbit and peppers onto the street while his fist still held tightly to his money, not even remembering it. He rushed straight into the nearest crowd as he heard Bellamy yelling behind him, and just ran faster. If either of the two Arkadians caught him he and Clarke would be found out, and there was too good a chance everything they'd worked so hard for would be lost. He couldn't let that happen, not when Clarke was counting on him, not when they were so close to finally getting their revenge, so Wells just ran faster. His eyes darted around as he pushed his way past people, getting yelled at from more than one stranger, but he couldn't stop to apologize. Finally he caught sight of a small alleyway and raced over to it, squeezing inside and pressing himself against one wall. It was dark in the shade between the two buildings and he slunk back, holding his breath while he listened intently for any indication he might have been followed. He stayed there for at least ten minutes, heart practically standing still while he half expected Bellamy to just pop up around the corner, and only really started breathing again when it was clear he'd successfully managed to get away.  
  
Chest heaving as his panic caught up with him, Wells sunk back against the wall, his eyes closing. That had been too close and he couldn't let it happen again, even if seeing his old friends had momentarily sparked something warm in his chest. He had a mission to complete, and until he'd finished it he couldn't care about anything else.  
  
Wells waited another minute to get himself back in control, and then peered cautiously around the corner, making sure no one who might recognize him was around. The coast clear, he slipped out of the alley, making his way down the street as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

***

For a second, Bellamy couldn't believe his eyes. He glanced over the young man at first and then quickly did a double-take, his eyes immediately widening. It couldn't be him, it just couldn't be, but the man he'd seen looked so much like his old friend that he just couldn't help looking again. As his eyes darted back to him he caught the man turning in the opposite direction and sprinting into a small crowd moving towards him, but even as he went Bellamy saw another flash of the side of his face and was sure it was him.  
  
“Wells?” he let out in a breath, barely able to believe what he was seeing. He felt Raven stiffen beside him, no longer trying to fight her way back into the tool shop, but he couldn't even begin to focus on her at the moment. “Wells!” he called more loudly, only more sure of what he'd seen than he had been a second ago, and then without thinking he took off after the man, his long legs quickly taking him down the street.  
  
“Bellamy!” he heard Raven call behind him but he barely noticed it, too focused on the person he could see beginning to disappear in the crowd. He picked up his pace, lengthened his stride, and chased after the other man, refusing to just let him disappear again. If this person really was Wells he didn't know why he was running away from him, but he couldn't make himself stop chasing him. If Wells was alive, it meant there was hope. It would mean that at least one of the friends he thought he'd lost seven years ago hadn't died, had somehow managed to survive, and that would be worth making a fool of himself as he ran down the street, pushing and shoving the people who got in his way. If Wells was alive, maybe he wasn't the only one. Maybe, just maybe, Clarke would be-  
  
He couldn't let himself finish that thought. He'd hoped for it too many times already to count, and every time eventually he'd been forced to reface the truth. Each and every time his heart had broken open once again, and he didn't think he would be able to take it again so he pushed the thought, the millisecond of hope away and just chased after the man he'd actually seen.  
  
Unfortunately with the crowded streets, all too quickly Bellamy lost sight of the man he thought might just be the friend who was supposed to be dead. Bodies filled the area, people of all shapes and sizes surrounding him, and Bellamy tried to quickly scan them all to locate the person he had been desperately trying to follow. He couldn't find Wells in any of them, and his run slowed down to a jog, his jaw clenching tightly as he realized he'd lost him.  
  
“Bellamy!” he heard shouted behind him and he turned to see Raven coming up behind him, running as quickly as she could on a bad leg. Normally her limp wasn't pronounced, was barely even noticeable, but chasing after him must have taken a toll on it because by the time she hobbled up to him she was glaring and he could read the pain in her eyes. Far more noticeable though was anger, and he winced as she shot a deadly glare at him. “What the hell, Bellamy?! What was all that about?” She leaned heavily on her good leg and he stepped forward, offering his shoulder for her to lean on. As he suspected she just pushed him away, her glare never once softening. She leaned over and rubbed at her thigh and he looked for a place for her to sit. He didn't find any benches or chairs but there at least was a bit of open wall nearby she could lean against, so he led her over to it.  
  
“Sorry,” he just said, not quite able to meet her eye as she let out a huff as she leaned back against the wall. “I thought...” He shook his head, angry at himself and suddenly sure he must have been wrong. “Nothing. It doesn't matter. Sorry I just took off like that.”  
  
As she continued to rub and knead her thigh muscles and made her way down to her knee, Raven looked over at him, studying Bellamy. “You said his name,” she murmured, her glare shifting to curiosity. “Wells. I heard you.” The older man ran a hand over his face and then shook his head again before finally meeting her eyes.  
  
“I thought I saw him,” he admitted, knowing that much was obvious. “He was just,” he shrugged, “just getting food. That's it. Nothing exciting, but I could have sworn it was him. Looked just like him.”  
  
Raven studied her friend's face for a moment, reading the anger and the pain that had sparked in dark eyes she knew all too well. His jaw was clenched and she even noticed his hands were balled into fists, and her expression softened. “I get it, Bell,” she told him quietly, the words almost lost to the noise of the busy street around them. She looked blankly in front of her then, trying to ignore the painful memories that were stirring up but failing. “We've all been there. We've all thought we've seen them. Remember when O was convinced a couple of years ago she saw Clarke in the band of traveling merchants that came to Arkadia? She was hugging that woman before either of us could stop her, and when she realized it wasn't Clarke she didn't talk for days.” She reached out, gently setting her hand on his shoulder and he looked at her, the pain and loss now overpowering everything else in his expression. Raven gave his arm a light squeeze, just to remind him he wasn't alone. “We all want them to be alive, but they're not. We scoured the forest for weeks after the fire and didn't find anything. There were no signs of any survivors, no matter how much we wish there had been. Clarke and Wells are gone, Bellamy, just like Lord Jake. I'm sorry.”  
  
Bellamy's throat burned an all too familiar burn and he felt hot tears trying to well up in the corners of his eyes. He dashed them away with the sleeve of his shirt, angry at himself for hoping for even a second and letting this all build up yet again. Raven was right, this was far from the first time one of them had thought they'd seen one of their friends alive, and like every other time they were wrong. He must have just been seeing things, must have mistaken someone else for his dead friend, and of course he'd ran away when he started chasing him. A fresh wave of guilt passed through him at the thought that he must have scared whoever the man had been and he let out a frustrated sigh.  
  
“You're right,” he said finally, shaking his head and his floppy hair fell in his eyes. He blew it out of his face and then looked back at Raven. She was still watching him closely, searching for any signs he wasn't alright, and he let one corner of his mouth just barely twitch up. “Sorry, Rae,” he added, gesturing down to her leg, “I shouldn't have taken off like that. You alright?”  
  
“What, me?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow up at him, lips curling up into a grin. “I'm always alright.” Her grin fell just a bit as she scanned his face again. “Are you alright?” Bellamy ran one hand through his hair, probably just making it messier than it already was, and then nodded once. “Yeah,” he decided, meeting her eyes, “I'm alright. We both know this is nothing new. I'll be fine.” She nodded sadly, all too aware, and then he stepped away from the wall.  
  
“Come on,” he just said, tilting his head towards the street, “we should probably be getting back to the palace. Abby will want us to be all nice and presentable for the queen's party tonight.” He made a face, his thoughts on that in no way hidden, and she let out a light laugh.  
  
“We better hurry then,” she told him, flashing him a grin as she pushed herself off the wall. “You'll need as much time as you can get to make yourself presentable. Probably should have started earlier, honestly.” She shot him a wink and he shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  
  
“What about you?” he wanted to know and she tilted her head back, wiggling her eyebrows a little at him. “I'm always presentable,” she replied. A thought flashed across her face and then her grin shifted to a smirk, and Bellamy was already rolling his eyes before she'd even said anything, knowing he wasn't going to like it. “We should probably also get back to see how your sister is faring against her very handsome dueling partner.”  
  
Bellamy scowled at that and she just kept smirking, the two heading back into the street. At the reminder of his sister and the Guardsmen Bellamy wanted to move faster and get back as soon as he could, but he made sure to stay at a leisurely pace. Raven wouldn't complain, but he knew her leg must still be hurting from the impromptu run only a few minutes earlier. He figured going slowly was the least he could do after ruining their trip into the city. 

***

Raven lifted her cup to her lips, helping herself to a long sip of the sweet red wine. Typically she preferred a good ale over the sickeningly sweet drink, but clearly people with money felt otherwise. All night she'd watched as trays and trays of different wines circulated around the room and all she could do was roll her eyes at it all. Between the wine and the many fine dishes of appetizers being passed around she knew she was staring at a small fortune. The food was all incredibly well made and presented beautifully, and she had to hand it to the queen and her cooks that they certainly knew what they were doing, but she couldn't help judging a group of people that would waste so much money on just one party. Sure, there was always plenty of food and drink at Arkadia and sometimes even that was a bit much, but at least Abby never went this crazy. Yet another server with a tray of glasses passed her and she took another sip of her drink to keep herself from shaking her head.  
  
This was the second party she and most of the other Arkadians had been to, and so far it was going pretty much as she'd expected. A small group of musicians played in the corner of the Great Hall, the soft music of their instruments wafting through the room, and a few couples danced near them, their steps scripted and perfectly in sync with one another. Two large tables were piled with food on the other side of the room and a number of people hung around them, helping themselves to seconds and thirds and even fourths for a few of them. Raven had been admiring the dishes for a while before she had to look away, wondering how anyone could eat so much in such a short amount of time. People mingled throughout the rest of the room, mostly nobles but a few of their servants mixed in among them, most of them there to wait on their lords or ladies. Most of the servants hung back and stuck together, watching their nobles from the sides of the room, while others stepped in to help with the catering. Few of the nobles seemed to even notice their servants or the palace staff walking around with the trays, far too busy talking with each other. Raven didn't care about any of them anymore than they cared about her, so she ignored them, searching the crowd for the few people she did care about.  
  
She found Abby and Madi near the center of the room with Lord Kane. A few other people stood with them, though she didn't recognize them all. The older man talking to Madi she knew was Lord Dante Wallace of Mount Weather and she thought maybe the younger man with him might be his son, but she wasn't positive. She let her eyes continue scanning the room until she found Bellamy on the other side of one of the food tables. He was talking with Monroe, each holding a plate, but they looked much more interested in their conversation than the food. Monroe had spent a lot of time with them since their arrival in Polis, showing them around the palace a little and spending much of the mornings training with Bellamy while Octavia worked with the Guard, and they'd all decided they liked her. As far as nobles went, she was definitely one of the good ones. Raven continued on, searching for one other face, and she had to hide a smirk behind her cup when she found her. Octavia was standing across the room with Lincoln, the lieutenant probably supposed to be working, but Raven could see their smiles from there. The younger woman was talking animatedly about something, her hands moving in front of her, and the Guardsman was just watching, nodding along every now and then. There was definitely no mistaking the look in his eyes, and Raven thought Bellamy might just have to accept the fact this man probably wasn't going away any time soon. She had no idea what would happen when they had to leave Polis, but Lincoln definitely had the look of someone who went after what he wanted, and Raven had no doubt Octavia wanted him too.  
  
“What are you smirking about?” she heard someone say, and forced herself to look away from the pair. Lady Anya gave her a look as she moved up beside her, hard eyes scanning over Raven's face, and the brunette raised her brow at the older woman.  
  
“Who's smirking?” she asked, looking around her as though the knight may not have been speaking to her. “Certainly not me.” She then looked at Anya, batting her eyelashes dramatically. “That's just so unladylike, and I am nothing if not a lady.” For emphasis she stuck out her pinky as she took another sip from her wine.  
  
Anya just looked at her, her expression not so much as twitching. “I'm sure,” she said dryly, “Who would think otherwise?” She moved to stand by Raven, glancing at the woman who leaned lightly back against the wall. “Your posture just screams ladylike.” The brunette flashed her a grin and wiggled her eyebrows. “I was raised by the best.”  
  
“I'm sure your mother is very proud,” Anya stated, and Raven let out low, humorless laugh.  
  
“Please, my mother's never been the best at anything,” she told the knight, her grip just barely tightening around the stem of her glass. She nodded then over to where Abby and Madi still were. “If anyone actually raised me, it was Abby. Her and Jake.” Saying the man's name hurt far less now than it had at one point in her life, and she could even flash another grin over at the blonde beside her. “And they did the best they could with me. What can I say, I'm not easily contained.”  
  
The knight studied her for a second, her expression unreadable. “I've noticed,” she finally just said, and then she shifted in her stance, looking around the room. Her gaze fell on Octavia and Lincoln, and her brow just barely lifted. “Ah. So that's what you were looking at.”  
  
“They're not subtle, are they?” Raven looked back over at the pair and shook her head, lips still curled up. “I predict we'll all be going to a wedding before too long.”  
  
Anya's brow knit and she glanced back over at the brunette. “They haven't even known each other for two weeks.” Raven shrugged and then downed the last couple sips of her wine. “Doesn't matter,” she stated as she pulled the cup away from her lips, “sometimes you just know it's right.” She nodded over to her friend and the Guard. “They look right.”  
  
“I wouldn't have taken you for a romantic,” Anya told her as she lifted an eyebrow at the brunette. Raven scoffed, looking over at the knight, apparently amused by the thought.  
  
“Oh I'm not,” she assured her, leaning a little more fully back against the wall, “I think love is...” She just shrugged as she gave the knight a look. “But hey, for some it works.” She gestured over to Octavia and Lincoln. “For them, it'll work. Octavia's so stubborn she'll _make_ it work if she wants. Me? I'm all for a little fun every now and then, but love?” She shook her head, making a face. “No thanks. It's too likely to bite you on the ass.”  
  
“That's... a very interesting way of looking at it,” Anya informed her slowly, having to work to keep her expression even. She studied this woman again, seeing something buried in her eyes beneath the humor and jokes. Clearly there was a reason she felt this way, but the knight decided it would be better not to ask; some things weren't meant to be discussed between strangers, and especially not at a party. Instead she decided to change the subject, and found herself looking down at Raven's figure. “You look nice tonight.” Immediately she made a face at herself, not sure why in the hell she'd decided to go with that. It was true, the red dress with gray trimming the younger woman wore fit her nicely, and the subtle dark lip paint certainly drew attention to her mouth, but Anya instantly wished she could take the words back.  
  
Raven however seemed to get a kick out of them, her attention suddenly pulled away from the room around them and now honing in on the woman beside her. An eyebrow ticked up and the corners of those painted lips curled, amusement obvious in her expression.  
  
“I do, huh?” she asked, and when Anya refused to say or do anything in return she crossed her arms over her chest. “Abby insisted I wear a dress to this thing, said we needed to look good for the party.” Her grin grew just a little bit as she looked the knight over. She wasn't wearing a dress, but her black breeches and dark gray silk tunic looked amazing on her, and Raven let herself stare for just a millisecond longer than was probably appropriate. “You don't look half bad yourself.” Anya just stood up a little straighter, her posture so stiff Raven was sure she couldn't be comfortable, and the brunette shook her head. “You could relax a little though. You are at a party after all.”  
  
“I am relaxed,” she informed the younger woman, looking back out at the crowd again, and she told herself it wasn't because she was afraid to be caught staring at the brunette. From the corner of her eye she saw Raven make a face, and then she shook her head.  
  
“If this is you relaxed, I'd hate to see you tense,” she muttered, and then helped herself to another glass of wine as a server with a tray went by, setting her empty cup in its place. When Anya didn't move and the server just kept walking she tilted her head. “No wine for you?”  
  
“I don't drink while I'm working,” Anya told her, scanning the crowd even as she said it, stopping only when she found the queen. Lexa was nodding along to something Lord Costa was saying, wearing her polite diplomat expression. She quickly scanned the area around the queen for any dangers, and then only turned back to her companion once she'd determined all was as well as it seemed. When she did she found Raven watching her, a curious look on her face. “What?” she wanted to know, and the brunette just glanced over at the queen.  
  
“You two are friends, right?” she asked. “I mean, it seems like you are. You're the one always with her and Prince Aden in the library, and you seem to be the only one always with her.” Anya just gave her a simple nod and Raven looked back and forth between them, seeming to mull something over. The knight wasn't sure she liked the look, and found herself repeating, “What?”  
  
“Nothing,” Raven told her, and then she shrugged again. “I was just thinking it must be interesting, being friends with a queen. Especially when you have the added responsibility of making sure she's safe.”  
  
“I've known Her Majesty a long time,” Anya said, looking back over at Lexa.  
  
“Lincoln says you taught her sword work.” Raven glanced down at the sword strapped to the knight's waist. “By the way, don't be too surprised if Octavia challenges you to a duel at some point. She'll fight anyone, and Lincoln's told her you're one of the best, just beneath Indra.” She rolled her eyes and Anya's lips almost twitched. “Trust me, she's already been after Indra to fight her, and the Captain of the Guard has smacked her down more than once. She just keeps going back for more though.”  
  
“Get smacked down, get back up,” Anya recited, the motto one that the Guard constantly used. This time Raven's head fell back as her eyes rolled, and then she was giving the knight a look.  
  
“Yeah, I really don't need to hear that again,” she informed her, “Ever since Lincoln taught it to Octavia it's pretty much all she can say.” This time Anya's lips really did twitch, and she both hated and loved the way it made the younger woman grin. She did her best to ignore it, looking back out over the room again until something Raven had said suddenly clicked.  
  
“What do you mean I'm beneath Indra?” she demanded, eyes narrowing as she turned back to the brunette, and Raven held up her hands. “Hey, don't look at me, Lincoln said it.” Anya glared across the room at where Lincoln now stood alone, back straight and on the lookout for any trouble, and decided she would need to challenge him to a friendly little match at some point.  
  
Indra was a great fighter, possibly even better than her, but that didn't mean Anya didn't have her pride.  
  
Raven held in a grin as the knight glared at the Guard across the room. She knew exactly what Anya was thinking, and suddenly decided she would have to join Octavia in the bailey for the next couple of days. She'd stopped joining her recently, getting bored of watching her friend run around and play with her sword, but being able to watch Anya fight would be a whole other story. The knight had never been in the courtyard when she'd been down there and she was very interested to see just how well Anya moved with her blade.  
  
Thinking about the fight that would be coming soon, Raven followed the blonde's gaze across the room to Lincoln, finding the man alone now. That by itself didn't surprise her since he was supposed to be working the party and couldn't spend the entire night talking to a pretty girl, but the stiffness in his shoulders and the way she could see him clenching his jaw did. Raven traced his line of sight to find what had put the generally happy man off so much, and instantly her brow furrowed. Octavia now stood near one corner of the room but she wasn't alone, a small number of nobles around her. They were all young men and Raven recognized one of them as Philip Hyll, the Boudalan knight they'd met their first day at the palace. Octavia didn't look any happier now than she had that day in the courtyard. Even as Raven watched the young noble reached out, his hand settling on her waist, and Octavia pushed it away only for another one of them to touch her arm.  
  
“Shit,” Raven muttered, entirely forgetting about the woman beside her. She pushed herself off the wall, setting her wine glass on a table as she passed by it. Her leg immediately protested the movement, still sore after her run in the city earlier that day, but she couldn't just hang back anymore. As quickly as she could she began making her way across the room, biting her lip hard as she felt the uneven gait of her limp. She could feel eyes turning on her and dropping to her leg but forced herself to ignore them.  
  
“Are you alright?” Anya asked beside her, following her. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the knight's gaze drop to her leg, obviously surprised by her uneven movement, and Raven felt shame and anger burn through her chest.  
  
“Fine,” she answered tersely, not looking over to meet the knight's eyes. “Just an old injury.” She didn't say anything more about it and Anya didn't ask, and for that at least Raven was grateful. With the conversation dropped she could turn her entire focus over to the group they were quickly approaching, able to read Octavia's patience quickly ending even from yards away.  
  
“I _said_ leave me alone!” she heard the younger woman growl as she got closer, and watched as she yanked her arm out of one noble's grasp.  
  
“Oh come on, Mistress Blake,” one of them said, a teasing lilt in his voice Raven didn't understand, “we just want to have a little fun.”  
  
“We know you want to have some fun too,” Philip Hyll added, shooting a sly grin over to his friends. “You always do.” He reached out as he finished, grabbing lightly at the skirt of Octavia's dress and tried to pull her closer to him. The brunette's eyes flashed and Raven had no doubt she was about to do something she would probably regret, so she quickly stepped in.  
  
“Hey!” she exclaimed, shouldering her way into their group until she was standing beside her friend. “She told you to leave her alone.” She shot a glare at all of them and then held Philip's eyes, watching as the man's brow just lifted by a centimeter.  
  
“And you are?” he asked, looking down his nose at her. His face scrunched up then and his head tilted back. “It doesn't matter; just remember who you're talking to.”  
  
“Lord Philip,” Anya called evenly, and his eyes widened. He hadn't realized she was there as she'd stayed back as Raven moved over to her friend, and he now turned around to look at her. Hard eyes stared at him, the knight's mouth pursed into a thin line. “I believe Mistress Reyes is right: Mistress Blake asked all of you to leave her alone. You will not touch her again.”  
  
Philip hesitated, eyes flicking across Anya's face. Technically in rank she wasn't much higher than him, the Pines one of the smaller noble houses of the Trikru, but everyone knew she was one of the very few people the queen truly trusted. Not only that but her skill with a sword was widely regarded as some of the best, easily one of the greatest knights of their time, so doing anything to anger her was certainly ill-advised.  
  
That being said, Philip wasn't someone to snivel and cower in front of anyone. After a moment he stood up a little straighter, looking at her as though she didn't interest him in the slightest.  
  
“Have you made some new friends, Lady Anya?” he asked, doing his best to keep his tone mild. He glanced back at the two women behind him, grimacing. “I would think you'd choose someone with a bit more class, but who am I to point out your mistakes?” He shrugged and then gave them all an easy smile. “Anyway, I'll have you know you misunderstood. We were all just having a little fun.”  
  
“I don't think she agrees with that,” Anya informed him, nodding over his shoulder at Octavia. She took a step closer to the lord, continuing in a low tone, “Just because one Mistress Blake had to put up with you and your antics, do not expect this one to.”  
  
“Who the hell is this other Mistress Blake?!” Octavia demanded, throwing up her hands and Raven frowned as well, not at all understanding what was going on. She began to look back over at Anya but then stopped when she noticed Bellamy and Monroe approaching. Apparently they had noticed something going on, and Raven was just glad he'd missed these nobles all grabbing and touching Octavia: she seriously doubted he would have been able to hold himself back from punching any one of them, and that would not have ended well.  
  
“ _Our_ Mistress Blake is fun,” Philip answered, turning a little to throw a sneer at the younger brunette. “She understands her place. When Clarke was here we-”  
  
He didn't finish his thought. Without warning Octavia grabbed his shirt in her fists, her eyes blazing as she shook him.  
  
“Don't say that name,” she growled between clenched teeth, pressed so close to him that their bodies were touching. He grabbed at her wrists, eyes wide in shock, and she just shook him again. “Don't you ever, _ever_ say that name again!”  
  
“Octavia let him go!” Bellamy demanded, quickly stepping around a surprised Anya so he could move over to her. Raven didn't wait for him, instead grabbed one of her arms and yanked on it. “O, knock it off!”  
  
“Get your hands off me!” Philip yelled, his fingers scrambling at Octavia's wrists but she held onto him with a grip as strong as steel. “How dare you! I'll have your head for this! How dare you attack a noble!”  
  
“Octavia let go!” Raven hissed, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coated her throat. Bellamy shook his head, his face already pale as he grabbed onto his sister's other arm. “Please my lord, she, she doesn't realize what she's doing.”  
  
“What is going on here?” they heard a familiar voice exclaim and Raven calmed down just a little, looking over her shoulder to find Abby hurrying over to them, fury and concern warring in her eyes. Madi was with her, quickly taking in the full scene as her eyes darted over them, and Raven noticed her bite her lip. This wouldn't be good, but at least Raven knew they wouldn't let Philip follow through on his threats.  
  
“Let him go Octavia!” Madi demanded and after another second of shooting a warning glare at the young nobleman, Octavia finally did as she was told. Bellamy and Raven pulled her back a few steps to put some space between her and the fuming noble, and Raven winced when she noticed they'd drawn a crowd around them. Octavia didn't even seem to notice, her body still shaking with fury and the older brunette wanted to smack her over and over again until she finally realized what she'd done.  
  
“I want her head!” Philip cried, pointing an accusing finger at Octavia. His eyes blazed and his entire face had gone red. “You are going to pay for that, wench!”  
  
“My lord, I'm sure this was a misunderstanding,” Abby tried, her voice cool and calm as she tried to get him to relax but he just kept fuming, demanding retribution.  
  
“Lord Philip, that is enough,” a new voice stated, and Raven winced again. The crowd that had gathered around parted and the queen strolled towards them, her hands linked behind her back. She looked impressive in a dark green dress with black lace, the train of the dress trailing behind her. Raven and Bellamy pulled Octavia into a bow, remembering too late that the two women wore dresses and should have instead curtsied, but rather than try to remedy it now they stayed down, waiting for some indication they should rise. Most of the nobles around them bowed or curtsied as well though they quickly rose out of it, and at the last moment Philip remembered he needed to do the same. The queen waited until he rose and then looked over them all. “Someone tell me what is going on here.” When Philip opened his mouth to do so she held up one hand, instantly silencing him. “Not you. I've heard enough from you at the moment.” She looked around, her focus honing in on Octavia. “Mistress Blake. Since it's your head apparently on the line, you will tell me what happened.”  
  
Octavia stood back up and Raven and Bellamy followed her, and a stone the size of her fist seemed to roll around Raven's gut, nearly making her sick with worry. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the same worry flashing in Bellamy's eyes and tugging at his lips, but Octavia barely managed to hold in her glare. She tilted her head up as she met the queen's stare and Raven closed her eyes, praying to all the gods to keep her friend from saying something stupid that would only make all of this worse.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Octavia began, “I was going to get some food when these _lords_ ,” she spat the word out like a curse and glared at the small group of them and Raven had to clench her jaw tightly to keep herself from screaming at her, “came over to me. For a few minutes we were just talking, mostly about training. I've been working with the Palace Guard every morning.”  
  
“I'm aware,” the queen informed her, “Indra tells me she's been impressed by your resilience.” Octavia's eyes widened, surprised either by the fact the queen knew about the training or by the Captain's praise, and Raven could have sworn she saw the very tips of the queen's lips twitch, but just like that they were perfectly straight again. “Continue, please.”  
  
“Right,” Octavia said, shaking her head a little as though she'd been caught off-guard. She glanced over at the nobles who had been bothering her again, briefly clenching her teeth. “Then they started making jokes and touching my arms, grabbing my waist, that kind of thing. I told them to knock it off but they didn't. Then my friends and Lady Anya came over,” she nodded over to where Anya stood, the blonde nodding as though to corroborate the story. “They tried to tell them to knock it off too. Lady Anya told him that even though the other Mistress Blake let him do things like that, it didn't mean I wanted him to. Then he – _Lord_ Philip – he said that their Mistress Blake is fun.” She looked away then, glanced over at Abby and Madi and her hands curled into fists at her side. “He said – a name... one that he shouldn't have said.”  
  
“What name, Octavia?” Abby asked when she didn't immediately say anything else. The brunette met her eyes and looked away, not answering, and the lady frowned. “Octavia?”  
  
Lexa understood in that moment exactly what had happened. “There is a woman who used to accompany some of the younger nobles to the palace,” she informed Abby quietly, her voice still loud enough for those around her to hear. She didn't look over to meet the woman's eyes as she turned towards the queen, just stared fixedly at Philip, anger stirring in her gut. “Her name is Clarke Blake. She doesn't come here anymore because she knows about your loss and didn't want to be a reminder of it. Apparently Lord Philip was not as concerned about it.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she caught the silent breath the mother took at the name of her lost daughter. Raven, Bellamy and Octavia all tried to look elsewhere, clearly just as affected by the name as their lady. Beside Abby, Madi shifted, her lip tugging between her teeth. Philip glanced down at the floor as she finished, suddenly unable to meet her eye.  
  
“So he used the girl's name!” Lord Damos, Philip's father, exclaimed, stepping forward from the crowd. He moved to stand by his son, glaring daggers at the three of them and then turning the same glare to Lady Abigail. “She still attacked my son! Are you going to let a common wench get away with attacking a member of the nobility?” He turned the accusation on Lexa and Philip looked up at that, settling his shoulders back and lifting his chin.  
  
“You're right,” the queen agreed and their eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting the answer. “Crimes were committed here, and justice must be served.” She saw Octavia's face go pale and her brother step forward, as though to put himself between her and the queen. Lexa didn't let herself focus on either, and turned to Anya. “Lady Anya, how many times were these men told to leave Mistress Blake alone?”  
  
“At least three times, Your Majesty,” Anya answered easily, her posture loose. Lexa could tell she already knew where the queen was going with this. “When Mistress Reyes and I approached I heard Mistress Blake insist she wanted them to stop, then when they didn't Mistress Reyes stepped in and insisted the same thing, and then when that request was ignored I informed them they needed to leave Mistress Blake alone.” She shrugged. “It sounded like Mistress Blake had tried to get them to stop at least a few times before then, however, so I can't say for sure how many times the request was ignored.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lexa told her, and then she turned back to Philip and his father, a hard expression settling on her face. “Lord Philip, you are aware that there is a law in place to protect women – people – from unwanted attention, aren't you?” Lips pursed and face once again red, he nodded. “And you did hear Mistress Blake – and Mistress Reyes, and Lady Anya – when they told you to stop bothering her, didn't you?” Again, he nodded. “But you and your friends,” she glanced away from him, sending a look over to the group of young noblemen who were clearly trying to sink into the floor, “didn't stop, did you?” Lexa saw his hands clench into fists but he shook his head.  
  
“What of it?” Lord Damos wanted to know, glaring at the queen. “They were playing around, that's all! They're young men, it's not like they hurt the wench.”  
  
“Watch your tone,” Anya threatened, stepping up beside Lexa, her hand settling warningly on the hilt of her sword, “I'll remind you you're speaking to Her Majesty Queen Alexandria, leader of the Kongeda. You will speak to her with _respect_.” Lord Damos looked like he wanted to say something at that but didn't, shutting his mouth with an audible snap.  
  
Lexa waited for them to be done, and then met the lord's eyes. “Allow me to explain this clearly, Lord Damos,” she told him, keeping her tone light. “When a woman – or anyone, for that matter – states they are uninterested in a person or uninterested in the person's attention, it is expected for the person to back off. What you call playing around I call harassment, and if not stopped that harassment could very easily led to other, far less pleasant things. When that wench indicated she had no interest in your son's attention, it was his responsibility to respect her wishes and leave her alone, but it does not seem he was able to do that. A noble who does not understand his responsibilities is a danger and a stain on my nation, and I will not have either. Do you understand now?” For a moment neither Hyll said anything, and then Lord Damos nodded stiffly, his own face beginning to turn pink. Lexa watched as his eyes flickered around the room, catching all the people now staring at them, but the queen ignored them all. She stood up a little straighter, her expression carefully even as hot anger burned in her gut. “Lord Philip,” she stated, drawing all attention back to her, “you have demanded Mistress Blake's head for attacking you. It sounds as though there are a number of witnesses we can call on to speak towards what happened; would you like to formally press charges?”  
  
She was giving him an out, and everyone knew it. With the testimonies already given, no one would fault the queen for siding with Octavia on this, at least not to her face. The other noblemen who had been a part of what started it all stared at Philip, some glaring and others practically pleading, entirely aware that if he chose to continue they would all be susceptible to charges against them. The crimes of harassing a woman didn't necessarily add up to much but it would be a blemish on their name, and something few would likely forget. It was clear Lord Philip could feel them all watching him and his eyes flicked back and forth between the queen and Octavia. For her part the young woman just stood between her friends, looking like she couldn't entirely believe what was happening, but Lexa didn't let herself look away from the nobleman. Finally he bowed low, the movement stiff.  
  
“No, Your Majesty,” he answered, the words sounding like they were difficult to get out. “I'm afraid this has all been a big misunderstanding. There's no need for further action. Allow me to apologize for disturbing your party.”  
  
“As you wish,” Lexa replied with a sharp nod, and then she waited for him to stand again. The moment he did she met his eye, her expression hardening. “And let me make this clear: if I ever hear anything about you touching a woman again without her permission,” she looked over at the others then, adding, “- _any_ of you, I will not be lenient. Your titles will not save you from experiencing the full extent of the law. Remember that.” A few of them noticeably paled, a few looked away, while one or two just continued to look at her. Philip was one of them, and she could see the way the fists at his sides just barely shook. Anya noticed it too if the way she shifted a little closer to the queen was anything to go by, but for her part Lexa didn't let his anger faze her. She gave it another beat to let her words sink over them, and then looked around at the crowd, her expression evening once again. “Now then. I think we were having a party. Everyone please, help yourself to more food and wine.” The people standing around knew they'd just been dismissed and the crowd quickly broke up, everyone slowly returning to whatever they'd been doing before the excitement had grabbed at their attention. Damos grabbed his son by the arm and hauled him away and Lexa let them go.  
  
“What were you thinking?” she heard Lady Abigail exclaiming, the woman having stepped closer to her people. Lexa looked over to see her glaring at Octavia, her hands on her hips. “You know you can't just do that Octavia!”  
  
“I'm sorry Abby,” the younger woman said, though by the look on her face Lexa wasn't so sure she believed her, “I couldn't just let him go around saying that! I didn't want you or Madi to hear it.”  
  
“It's a _name_ , Octavia,” Lady Madelaine replied, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the brunette a glare. Something about the set of her brow and the flash in her blue eyes made Lexa frown, but she didn't have time to think on it. “You can't just go attacking someone because they used Clarke's name!”  
  
“You will not go around attacking anyone for any reason,” the queen stated, tilting her head a little higher as she stepped over to them. They all turned to look at her and Octavia flushed slightly, falling into a quick curtsy with the other woman while her brother bowed. When they rose again Lexa met the brunette's eyes. “You will not attend anymore of these parties. I won't have a disruption like this again.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” the young woman mumbled, and Lexa thought she caught relief dance across her eyes before she could hide it. Clearly it was no major loss to her, and if she hadn't been careful Lexa's lips might have twitched at her obvious relief. Instead she looked over to the other side of the room where a few of the people who'd witnessed the encounter had gathered, throwing looks at the Arkadians and queen.  
  
“I suggest you also keep your distance from everyone who bothered you tonight,” Lexa continued, her voice lowering just a fraction, “Philip especially.” She looked back over at Octavia, meeting blue-green eyes. “If any of them do bother you again though, I hope you will let me know.”  
  
“Thank you Your Majesty, but I can take care of myself,” the brunette informed her, standing up a little taller, and Abigail sent her another little glare. “Octavia!”  
  
“It's alright,” Lexa assured the lady, and this time her lips actually did twitch. Her brow rose a little, her tone almost light as she informed the younger woman, “I'm sure you can.” She paused then and let a bit of amusement slip into her expression before she told them, “I'm beginning to think all Blakes must be known for speaking their minds.” This woman's spirit reminded her a little of Clarke's, and it just made her miss the redhead. Hopefully soon she would be able to sneak out to see her again, but it definitely wouldn't be tonight. She now had a number of egos to soothe, and she had no doubt Titus was already waiting to go over this entire debacle with her. Knowing she might as well get started on the cleanup, she nodded to their group and then began to turn, but was stopped when she heard a voice behind her.  
  
“Your Majesty?” it said, and she turned to find Lady Madelaine stepping away from their group. Lexa saw her mother giving her a look but the young heiress didn't look anywhere but at the queen, and Lexa lifted an eyebrow. “Yes Lady Madelaine?”  
  
The girl fell into another curtsy, dipping her head before looking back up and meeting the brunette's eyes as her dark blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders. “I just wanted to thank you,” she told the queen, her voice quiet, maybe even a little shy, but steady. “I know what Octavia did was foolish, and a lot of people would have punished her for grabbing Lord Philip. Thank you for helping her instead. I owe you a debt.”  
  
Another smile tried to pull at Lexa's lips but she held it back even as she felt her expression soften a little. “You don't owe me anything, Lady Madelaine,” she informed her, “it's my duty to keep my people safe.” To her surprise the girl's eyes widened a little and she bit her lip but then she nodded. “That's what my father always used to say,” she murmured, “that our first duty is always to our people.” Lexa's heart twinged painfully for her, reading the pain she tried to hold back, and she looked away and then back again.  
  
“It sounds like he was a good man,” she told Madelaine, her voice quiet. “I wish I could have had the honor of knowing him.” The girl just gave her a small smile, the motion sad though she tried to hide it, and Lexa didn't look away from it. They stood there for just a moment until finally the queen nodded and then she turned, needing to return her attention to any of the dozens of others in the room.  
  
Madi watched the queen walk away, the woman's posture absolutely perfect, and she felt like her breath had gotten caught somewhere in her chest. She didn't think she'd ever met anyone so poised or put-together in her life, and speaking with her had definitely been nerve-wracking. Clearly the brunette was a wonderful woman but the way her green stare pierced into the heiress made her heart thump in her chest and she decided she would do her best to keep her distance for her own health.  
  
Behind her her mother continued to scold Octavia, but when Madi turned around she could tell the older girl didn't feel bad at all about what she'd done. Bellamy and Raven were both glaring at her, probably ready to rip into her as soon as Abby was done, and Madi could have let out a laugh if she wasn't suddenly exhausted. She'd been terrified when she'd turned around to see Octavia grabbing one of the lesser lords of the Boudalan Mountains and then nervous as she spoke with the queen, and now all she wanted to do was take off her dress and fall into bed.  
  
Apparently her mother had the same thought. As soon as she'd finished scolding Octavia she looked around at them, glancing over each of them, and then she let out a heavy sigh.  
  
“Come on,” she just said, delicately grabbing her skirt in one hand, “I think I've had enough fun for tonight. I'd like to get into bed, and I'm sure you could all use the rest as well.” Nobody put up any kind of argument so she led the way out of the room, Madi falling into place beside her mother while the other three followed along behind them.  
  
Leaving the Great Hall and stepping into the hallway, Madi saw her mother eyeing Raven out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“What happened?” she wanted to know, obviously noticing the way the brunette moved with a slight limp. The younger woman just shot a grin up at her, telling her, “Just a little too much excitement in the city today, nothing to worry about.”  
  
“Raven we've talked about this,” Abby reminded her, sounding more than a little exasperated. “You can't keep pushing yourself like this, you need to let your body rest. You shouldn't be running around or straining yourself.” She went on to lecture Raven and Madi hid a smile behind her hand, knowing full-well the brunette would nod along but not listen. All three of her friends always did what they wanted despite the risks and a lot of the time she wished she could be more like them.  
  
While her mother lectured Raven, Bellamy moved up to walk on Madi's other side. She could feel him studying her, and finally she sighed. “What Bellamy?”  
  
“I just wanted to check to make sure you're okay,” he told her, worry furrowing his brow.  
  
“I'm not the one who almost lost her head,” she muttered, shooting a look over at Octavia who just shrugged, still seeming unaffected by anything that had happened. Bellamy glared quickly over at his sister too, probably more upset than any of them, but then he let it drop for the moment as he turned back to the young lady.  
  
“I'm not talking about that,” he informed her, “I mean are you okay? Knowing what caused O to act so stupid?”  
  
Madi knew exactly what he was referring to and she swallowed thickly though she tried not to let her expression change.  
  
“It's just a name, Bellamy,” she replied, looking first over to him and then over to his sister, knowing they were both listening, “and one that's pretty common. I can handle hearing it. Just because my sister's dead doesn't mean either of you have to protect me from other people with her name. Especially not if it's just going to get you in trouble.”  
  
They both nodded but continued to glance at her from the side of their eyes, and Madi was careful just to look straight ahead. After a few minutes of making their way through winding hallways and up more than one staircase they made it to the rooms the queen had given them and bade each other goodnight. Madi kissed her mother on the cheek and nodded to the other three and then entered her room, pulling the door closed behind her. She moved slowly now that she was alone, fighting with the laces at the back of her dress until she could free herself, and then she pulled the gown off, hanging it delicately over the back of a chair. Her pressed nightgown laid neatly on her bed so she grabbed it and put it on, every movement slow and measured. Only once she wore the nightgown did she make her way over to the side of the room, kneeling down by the few bags tucked neatly into one corner. She grabbed one and pulled it in front of her, quickly opening it and then dug through the few pairs of hose and other nightgowns inside. From the bottom of the bag she carefully pulled out a doll, and as soon as she had it in front of her all she could do was stare at it.  
  
At thirteen, Lady Madelaine was much too old to still be playing with dolls, let alone traveling around with them. No one knew she'd tucked this one away before they'd left Arkadia, but she hadn't been able to think about being away from her home without it. Straw-blonde hair hung in small waves from the doll's head and the blue gown she wore matched the eyes painted on the doll's face above a small nose and smiling lips. She could barely remember her father giving it to her, it happened so long ago it was really just a blur in her memory, but not a day had gone by that she hadn't at least looked at it. After losing her father and sister this doll had become her most important possession, and Madi couldn't even consider a day when looking at it wouldn't simultaneously remind her of what she'd lost and comfort her at the same time. She brushed a few strands of blonde hair from the doll's face and bit her lip, thinking about other blonde hair she had once loved playing with.  
  
After a few minutes Madi stood up, cradling the doll to her chest. Silently she padded back over to her bed and climbed in, pulling the sheets up to her chest. She turned on her side, hugging the doll closer to her, and closed her eyes. She didn't weep, didn't so much as shed a single tear, just held onto the small figure that reminded her so much of her sister as a familiar hollow ache spread through her chest.  
  
Like most nights Madi fell asleep thinking about Clarke, wishing that she could somehow see her sister just one more time. As always she knew it was a feeble wish, knew that it couldn't bring someone back from the dead, but she wished it nevertheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to tell you all how much I absolutely love all your comments! It's so much fun for me to read all your theories about what's going to happen, they're all really good! Please feel free to keep them coming, and if you would like to talk to me about any of them feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr as clarkethewanheda! I've also had a few inquiries lately about whether I have a Twitter account (I don't at the moment) so I've been thinking about creating one but haven't gotten to it yet. I'll let you know when or if that happens for anyone who would prefer reaching out that way. 
> 
> Thank you everyone, as always you're the greatest readers a writer can have! :D


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Lady Madelaine Griffin wandered the halls of the palace, going nowhere in particular but just needing to move around. Her mother had made her sit through so many meetings that day she'd begun to go stir crazy, so the minute she'd finally finished dinner and could escape she'd taken the opportunity and done so. She would have to thank Lord Marcus the next day; he had distracted her mother long enough for her to slip away before she could be put to stitching lessons or anything else just as boring. She'd hoped taking the trip to Polis would put a pause on the dozens and dozens of lessons she had during any typical week, but that hope had been quickly dashed when even on their first day of riding her mother had started quizzing her on the names of the lords and ladies of each of the thirteen houses and their histories. Honestly she enjoyed learning about the history of the Kongeda and the people that made it up, and back home they were some of her favorite lessons, but having to continue any of them during their grand excursion to the city put a damper on the new sights and prettily dressed people.  
  
After being in Polis for almost two weeks, there was one thing she'd learned for sure; the palace was enormous, somehow feeling even bigger than it looked from the outside. Every time she'd managed to escape from her mother she'd explored another piece of the massive structure, and still knew she'd only gone through a small portion of it. The hallways were never-ending, countless rooms sprouting off of them, and Madi loved wandering down each one. There were enough servants always scurrying from room to room and jumping from one task to another that she never worried about getting lost so just let her feet lead her, enjoying the simplicity of not knowing where she would end up. For as long as she could remember her life had been as structured as it could possibly be, always knowing where she was supposed to go next, that not knowing carried a tiny pinch of freedom with it. Along with the not knowing came the solitude, a concept she could barely even grasp and absolutely relished in. She loved her mother and their people, the friends and family she had grown up with, but with them she knew she was always being watched and after seven years of barely even being able to sleep without someone standing over her the anonymity she'd found in the palace was one of the most freeing feelings she'd ever encountered.  
  
Tonight Madi explored the east wing of the palace, strolling down the carpeted hall and staying out of the way of the servants moving about their work. Most of them barely even looked at her, probably not recognizing her and labeling her as a noble only by the quality of her dress. Those that did look nodded or bowed a hair at her before returning to their work, and she would just return the move with a friendly smile and otherwise not interrupt them. She kept walking forward, peering into rooms every now and then to find linens being folded or furniture being polished, and enjoyed the rhythmic monotony of a good night's work around her.  
  
After a while the hall branched off into two directions, both ways well-lit, and Madi paused to consider which way to go until she looked down one hallway and saw a figure standing at its center, not appearing to be moving. The young lady frowned a little, recognizing who it was and hesitated for just a second before turning towards them. Prince Aden turned when he heard her muffled footsteps and stood a little straighter, nodding to her.  
  
“Lady Madelaine,” he greeted, instantly falling into his roll as prince and host, “is everything alright?”  
  
“Of course, Your Highness,” she answered with the proper curtsy, smiling politely at him. They'd spent some time together over the past week or so and she liked him well enough, but always felt a little shy around strangers even so. She swallowed that shyness down for the moment, telling him, “I just thought I would explore the palace a little, that's all. There's a lot to see.”  
  
He grinned at that, nodding as he said, “That's for sure. I've lived here my whole life and I still half-expect to walk into a new room every day.” She returned his grin with a small smile and then shifted in her stance to see what he'd been staring at before she'd interrupted. Portraits hung along this wall, at least a dozen of them, what looked to be the oldest one furthest on the end while the newest stood in front of them. The paintings were large, big enough that she thought they might almost stand as tall as her if they were taken down, and each one portrayed a different likeness. The one on the end closest to them was clearly meant to be the queen, her regal posture and striking green eyes evident even laid out on canvas. Hers wasn't the one the prince had been staring at, so Madi glanced at the one beside it, finding a man and a woman sitting in what were clearly meant to be thrones staring back at her. The man had the queen's green eyes and sharp nose, but her chin and jawline came from the woman in the picture. The woman's hair was also dark like the queen's while the man's was lighter, almost sandier like the prince's. They both smiled, something Madi had yet to see Queen Alexandria do much of, but even so it wasn't difficult to figure out who they were.  
  
“King Alexander and Queen Illiana?” she asked, glancing over at the prince and he nodded once, eyes also going back to the portrait. “Yeah,” he said, and from the corner of her eye she could see him link his hands behind his back. She hesitated a moment, not entirely sure what to say, but then heard herself telling him, “I'm sorry you never got to know them.”  
  
Prince Aden stiffened a little beside her, something flashing across his face before he could push it away, and then he just shrugged. “It is what it is.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, and then continued, “My mother told me they were wonderful people. Not just great rulers, but good people as well. She doesn't know if Queen Alexandria would have been able to reunite the Kongeda quite as easily if most of the houses hadn't already loved the old king and queen.”  
  
To her delight – she'd been hoping saying as much hadn't been overstepping – the prince let out a single light laugh. “You don't know my sister,” he told her, tossing a look and a secret smile over to her, “She's stubborn enough I'm sure she would have found a way to do it even if my parents had been hated.” His smile grew a little and he turned back to the portrait, looking it over a little before he added a bit more quietly, “Thank you, though; it's good to know they were liked. I've heard stories of course, but Lexa and Titus are a little biased, and most other people I know are just trying to make me like them.”  
  
“What makes you think I'm not trying to make you like me?” Madi joked, a little spark of fun igniting inside her. With most strangers she spent her time straight-faced and quiet, letting her mother always take the lead and just speaking when she had to, but she liked the prince. Talking with him felt a bit more like talking with Bellamy or Octavia or Raven, and she liked that since they would likely be spending a good amount of time together. She hadn't been able to spend much time with her older friends since they'd arrived at Polis, so having another friend might be nice, even if that friend was the prince.  
  
His smile disappeared slowly, brow furrowing a little as he thought his answer over, and then answered quietly, “Because you know what it's like. Getting most of what you know of someone who is supposed to be there from other people.” He looked at her fully again, understanding bright in his eyes, and as Madi met them she couldn't quite tell whether they were blue or green or somewhere in between. She bit her lip lightly to make sure nothing she didn't want showing flashed across her face, and then turned back to the portraits and nodded once. From the corner of her eye she could see him still watching her, and she wasn't surprised when he added, “I'm sorry too.” He looked back to the picture of his parents. “I don't know if it's better I never knew them. At least I don't really know what I lost.”  
  
Madi stared at the portrait of Queen Alexandria, not really seeing it. Glimpses of memories of her father flickered at the edge of her consciousness, and like always she frowned as she tried to pull at them, tried to solidify them. She could make out his face fairly clearly only because they had their own hall of portraits in Arkadia, but the line of them had stopped with her father. Clarke's would have joined it when she took over as head of their family, but she'd been gone before that could happen. Even so her sister's face flashed easily through her mind, a face she'd never had trouble remembering.  
  
“My sister could have done this,” she said suddenly, nodding to the painting in front of her. Beside her the prince glanced over, a little bit of surprise tugging at his eyebrows, but Madi didn't look over to study it. She was too busy looking at the painting and thinking of her sister to really think of anything else, and she suddenly felt the corners of her mouth twitch ever so slightly into a smile. “She was an amazing artist. I remember one time when I was four I think, she was working on a charcoal drawing of her horse. I grabbed at it and smudged it entirely, making a mess of myself and the picture.” She shook her head, the memory just making her smile grow a little. “She probably should have been upset but she just laughed. When my mother saw what a mess I was Clarke offered to clean me up before she could get angry. I'm pretty sure she was late to a lesson because of that, but she didn't seem to care.”  
  
“She sounds wonderful,” Aden murmured and Madi nodded without even realizing it. “She was,” she agreed, fighting down a little burn in her throat. For the most part she'd moved past her sister's death, but there were times when she couldn't quite hold back the ache from growing in her chest. This was quickly turning into one of those times and she knew she should stop speaking before she embarrassed herself in front of the prince, but she couldn't quite make herself do that. “She was my hero,” she admitted quietly, thinking of the one person she'd always looked up to, “and my best friend. Our parents were so often busy taking care of Arkadia it felt a lot like I never saw them, but Clarke was always there for me, even when she was also supposed to be busy. When I was sick or lonely, she was the person I went to. She taught me to ride a horse, weaved flower crowns for me, even taught me how to read.” Madi shook her head, closing her eyes as all of the memories flooded through her and had to stop to take a breath and swallow down the tears she could feel pricking at the corners of her eyes. Clarke's face played across her eyelids, those blue eyes twinkling with life and lips in an easy smile, and she quickly found her own mirroring it. “She was perfect at everything she did,” she continued, even going so far as to let out a little laugh and she was thankful when they both ignored the little hitch in it. Her eyes opened again to stare at the portrait in front of her, wishing it could be her sister's. “She would have been the best leader Arkadia had ever seen. I'm nothing in comparison with her.”  
  
Aden found himself looking from her to the image in front of her as she finished, finding his own sister staring out at them. Even comprised of paint and oils she felt regal, otherworldly, and he knew exactly what she meant. “I'm sure your people are lucky to have you,” he said to her, his voice a bit quieter than he necessarily meant it to be, “but I also know what that's like, living in someone's shadow. The Kongeda is lucky to have Lexa instead of me.”  
  
“I hope nothing ever happens to Her Majesty,” Madi began, turning to face him again, “but if it did, I'm sure you would be a great king.” He smiled at her, not sure he agreed but thankful for the kind words, and then looked down the wall. Gesturing to the paintings lining it, he asked, “Would you like to know about them? I've been able to name them all and what they did since I was three. They were always my favorite history lessons.” She returned the smile, thankful for the change in subject, and nodded. “I'd like that,” she agreed and he smiled again, moving over to the portrait beside the one of his parents. “King Reynold and Queen Adelia, my grandparents. Queen Adelia was the one to bring the Shallow Valley into the Kongeda with her marriage to Reynold. Together they built on the foundation of what we now consider to be...”  
  
The stories continued as they slowly made their way down the hall, the prince filling her in on his family's royal history. He told her things she already knew and things she didn't, pieces that had been left out of her own history lessons and gossip that could only really be passed down within a family. She nodded along with each story, laughing every now and then when he made a joke and returning his smile whenever he looked at her. The prince had a knack for storytelling, gesturing with his hands at times as though the motions could bring the stories to life, and Madi found it a bit endearing. He talked about his family like Octavia talked about fighting or Raven talked about her books, and the young noblewoman quickly found she was just as comfortable with him as she ever was with either of them. She asked questions and he always answered them with a grin before continuing on with whatever story he had next.  
  
They'd made it to King Mikal, his great-great-great grandfather, when they heard footsteps approaching them from the other end of the hall. Both turned to see the queen and her personal guard walking towards them, and Madi fell immediately into a curtsy. She'd almost forgotten for a second who Aden was despite the stories he was telling but was quickly reminded of it as he just stood next to her, giving his sister an easy grin. Madi barely looked up as the two stopped in front of them, deepening her curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she greeted, keeping her eyes on the floor, suddenly shy again.  
  
“Lady Madelaine,” the queen greeted her and when she finally made herself look up she saw the woman giving her a nod. “I hope my brother is treating you well?”  
  
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she immediately assured her, bowing her head a little. “His Highness was honoring me with stories of your great family.”  
  
Lady Anya's lips twitched, an eyebrow raising as she looked at the prince. “If your sword work was as good as your storytelling you wouldn't need a knight-mistress.” Madi bit the inside of her lip, finding the remark inappropriate to say to a member of the royal family, but apparently the lady was close enough to them she could get away with jabs like that. Aden just grinned beside her, returning the lady's look as he replied easily, “I don't know, Indra has beat a lot of learning into me since you've been busy. My sword work might just match my storytelling now.”  
  
“Is that so?” Anya asked him, her eyebrow rising higher and he nodded. “Then you can show me tomorrow how much Indra's beatings have taught you. Meet me in the courtyard before mid-morning and we'll see what you've got.” A look that sent a shiver up Madi's spine flashed across her face, and the heiress was suddenly sure she was at least a little terrified of the knight. “Make sure to eat a light breakfast or I'll have you throwing it up in less than five minutes.” The prince rolled his eyes, something that shocked Madi entirely, and told his knight-mistress, “I learned that lesson weeks ago.”  
  
The queen had listened to their banter in silence, and when Madi looked back over at the older woman she was just as shocked to see a little smile twitching at the corners of her lips. Green eyes flicked back over to her and Madi nearly curtsied again, only locking her knees just in time to stop herself; the queen didn't need to know just how nervous she made her. Alexandria nodded to Lady Anya, telling Madi, “Don't mind them, they're barbarians with no manners.” Lady Anya grinned as though the words were a compliment and the prince seemed only just able to hold in a grin of his own, and Madi's head swam with uncertainty. Never had she ever expected to be part of a conversation like this with any of these very important people. The queen folded her hands neatly behind her back and then glanced over her brother and the young heiress, telling them easily, “We'll let you continue with the history lesson, though I would think you both must get enough of those during the day.” Madi felt her lips twitch at the joke as the queen began to continue by them, Lady Anya easily falling into step beside her. As they passed Alexandria nodded to the next portrait in the line, telling Aden, “Don't forget to tell her about the time King Amos wrestled the bear.” Her lips curled into a thin smile as she gave them both one last look and then she and her guard were off again, their footsteps muffled by the carpet as they made their way down the hall and disappeared around the corner.  
  
Madi shook her head, not entirely sure what had just happened. Just Alexandria's presence alone seemed to carry weight to it, the very air around her charged with royal influence, and it managed to take her breath away. Her nerves fizzled now just as they had done a week earlier when she'd spoken with the queen after Octavia had foolishly attacked Lord Philip, her heart beating more quickly than usual in her chest. She'd had to interact with the queen before of course, here and there during her time at the palace and years ago when she'd visited Arkadia, but never had the interaction been as intimate as this one. Usually they were with a room full of people and the queen's attention had been divided among everyone, and being hit with the entirety of her focus made Madi's heart race and nerves sing. It had been interesting and strange to see her smile, hear her joke, but the girl was glad to be alone with the prince once again. He was easy to talk to, certainly easier than his sister. When she looked back over to him, she found him already watching her with a grin still on his face.  
  
“I know,” he said, shaking his head, but the corners of his mouth didn't shift, “she's a lot to take in. You'll get used to it though.” Madi wasn't sure she wanted to get used to it, wondering what it would be like to always have this nervous ball in her gut, and decided not to think about it. Instead she glanced quickly at the portrait the queen had pointed out before she'd left, asking, “Did King Amos really wrestle a bear?”  
  
Aden laughed, likely seeing what she was doing, but just went with it. “He claimed he did,” he answered with a nod, “though there were a few people who tried to call his bluff. His wife was one of them, and when she said as much it's said he stripped out of his tunic right then and there, in front of an entire room full of people, to show her the claw marks he'd gotten from the fight. Apparently my many times great-grandmother was not impressed and told him that if he was going to strip in front of everyone she expected some great war-wound, not some measly little scratches.”  
  
Madi let out a loud laugh, just trying to imagine it, and the prince's grin shifted into a softer smile. He turned and continued leading her down the hall, his stories and her inquiries managing to entertain them both as they went, the time ticking by unnoticed as they enjoyed each other's company. 

***

Lexa's hands settled casually behind her back as she and Anya turned the corner, leaving her brother and the youngest lady of the thirteen great houses back with the many portraits. She'd spent enough of her own free time, as little as she'd ever had, staring at the same portraits, but ever since her own had been placed alongside her parents' it had been harder to look at them. That she could be compared to her mother and father seemed foolish, as though she were trying to play a trick on the world, and staring at their likenesses had only gotten more painful as the years went by. She knew Aden often found himself in the hallway, staring at the faces of the parents he never really knew, but she could barely bring herself to do it anymore. With as busy as she so often was she seldom had time to spare for the image anyway, and whenever she walked by it she was always careful to keep her eyes forward and avoid looking at it.  
  
For the past week or so, even if she'd wanted to take time to stare at the faces of her lost parents, she wouldn't have been able to; the end of the summer was near, fall beginning to creep in, and life had become more hectic than ever. Free time had become a joke, a concept to think about wistfully as she went from one place to another, to the point where the only reason she managed to continue to eat regularly was simply due to the number of meetings she held with food involved. Her days were spent going from one noble to the next, discussing anything from the economy to the best books to read in regards to warfare, often times all in the same conversation. Every day she managed to speak with at least one person from every house, ever-diligent not to show one family more attention than another, and much of her days were spent in meetings with all of the heads of the families. In those gatherings she mediated land disputes and planned out the construction of more permanent trading routes than what currently had been built from one area of the nation to the next, and listened to the endless ramble of people wanting something from her. In the evenings when she was finally done with the nobles for the day she met with Titus to go over city affairs that had made their way to the palace or continued to finalize the plans for the tournament, now less that a week away. Other evenings she met with Aden and Anya in the library to continue furthering her brother's lessons on the nation and their people, and while these were lessons they clearly all enjoyed, they exhausted her nearly as much as any other. Only when she was lucky did she manage to find herself in bed before the midnight hour, and every night the moment her head hit her pillow she was out, only to rise again before the sun the next morning. Her days had become an endless cycle and only the many endless cycles she'd had to deal with previously in her life could have prepared her for it, her tired body pushing itself to continue as she demanded.  
  
Tonight, however, was different. For the first night in what felt far too long, she had no meeting planned with Titus, and with Aden back with Lady Madelaine there would be no lessons in the library either. It could still happen, she knew, she could go and wait for him with Anya and maybe get some reading done while they waited, but the second she'd seen the two of them together, another thought had sparked in her mind, one that had immediately caused her heart to start beating more quickly. She could feel excitement tingling along the palms of her hands and held her wrist tighter, being extra careful not to change her gait in the slightest to keep Anya from noticing. The two continued making a little idle chitchat about the finishing touches they had yet to complete for the tournament, and when they made it to the hall that led to her bedroom Lexa carefully rolled her neck.  
  
“I think I'm going to go to bed early tonight,” she decided, keeping her tone carefully even. Anya gave her a look as an eyebrow rose, and asked, “What, no library lessons tonight?” The queen shook her head and then nodded back behind them despite the fact they'd left her brother at least five minutes ago. “Aden's busy with Madelaine, there's no reason to pull him away,” she replied, “We can continue more tomorrow night.” She let her lips twitch then, a small teasing grin tugging at them. “Besides, this will give you a chance to spend a little more time with Mistress Reyes. I'm sure she'll be at the library as usual.”  
  
Anya's eyes just barely narrowed. “I don't know what you're talking about, Your Majesty,” she said in a tone that warned Lexa not to push it, one she'd grown very comfortable with over the years. The brunette's grin widened a bit, even as she tried to show a picture of innocence.  
  
“I'm just saying, if you wanted to spend some time with Mistress Reyes, I'm sure she would enjoy it,” Lexa reiterated, sure Anya must be able to read her teasing in her eyes. “She seems to like seeing how long it takes her to make you smile or scowl; I think she enjoys both reactions.”  
  
“She's a pain in the ass,” Anya bit back, giving the queen the same scowl she'd noticed Raven try to wheedle out of her. She never had to work very hard for it, perhaps proving Anya's point, but Lexa couldn't help but think maybe Anya was never really as annoyed as she let on. The blonde crossed her arms in front of her, adding, “I'm not going anywhere near the library if I don't need to, not when she might be there.” Lexa nodded, though a part of her still expected her best friend to end up there no matter what she claimed.  
  
“Alright,” she just said, shrugging a little, “do what you want. I'm going to bed and getting a couple extra hours of sleep tonight.” Anya scanned her face quickly and Lexa just met it, and then the older woman returned her shrug. “Fine,” she finally replied and turned to lead the way towards her room, “if that's what you want, then okay.”  
  
As usual Anya took her all the way to her door and then passed her off to the two Guards standing outside it, and Lexa bid her a goodnight before slipping into the room. Before the door had even fully closed though she was hurrying over to her wardrobe, throwing off the simple enough dress she'd worn to dinner and the single meeting she'd had after it and pulled on an even more simple set of breeches and a tunic. She paced lightly around her room a little as she waited for the time to tick by so she could claim restlessness, and let her pulse pick up.  
  
Because of her busy schedule, Lexa hadn't been able to sneak out to the city since that glorious night with Clarke more than a week ago. Every night she'd considered it as she dragged herself into her room, desperately wanting to don her simple disguise and find her way back to the younger woman, but every night she'd known it would have been a foolish choice: exhaustion had become her greatest foe and closest friend as the days wore on, and she knew going to the city when she could barely find the energy to change into her nightgown would defeat the purpose of being there and taking everything in. She'd held herself back and forced herself to wait, and finally that waiting was nearly over as she strolled quickly from her hearth to her bed and back again. When she'd decided she'd waited long enough she left her room, giving the Guards her usual excuse, and began her latest escape from her home. With her cloak once again tied around her shoulders and sword strapped to her side she made her way into the kitchen, barely even glancing around her as she quickly passed by the few still working. In minutes she was finally outside and making her way down a now familiar path, and all at once she felt a tightness she hadn't noticed in her chest before this moment loosen.  
  
She hadn't been able to see Clarke again since their night together, but Lexa hadn't been able to stop thinking about it for more than mere minutes at a time. She was half-sure many of her meetings had only drawn out as long as they had because she'd lost track of what was being said due to her daydreaming about the redhead. No matter how hard she tried to focus and forget about Clarke for the moment, images would soon play at the back of her mind and Lexa became lost to them, for the first time finding she had no control over her own thoughts.  
  
Clarke's touch; delicate fingers trailing down her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake; lips nibbling along her collarbone or whispering along her neck; the brush of tickling hair between her thighs and the sight of flashing blue so dark as to nearly be black; the thoughts and memories swirled from the queen's mind to her gut, sending a ripple of sensation through her she'd never known until she met Clarke. More than just the other woman's touch or thought about their lips pressed so wonderfully together, Lexa missed their talks. She missed Clarke's voice and her words, the way she never ceased to make the queen think, made her question her own perceptions. She wanted to walk through the dirty streets of their city together so that the younger woman could introduce her to even more she hadn't known about or ever truly considered. She wanted to watch Clarke's interactions with others, from the fun smile she'd worn as they danced in the middle of the inn's common room to the soft look in her eyes she'd had when Kinder and his sisters had hung to her skirt in excitement. All in all she just wanted to be with Clarke again, in any way possible, and felt her stride pick up as she left the road leading to the palace and slipped into the streets of the city.  
  
A small pack hung off of Lexa's back tonight. Like the last time she'd come into the city, she'd done so with a plan not to remain penniless. As before she'd packed away two old shirts, their silk barely worn but old enough that she'd been told they no longer suited a queen, and stopped at a stand that sold fabrics and clothing. She bartered a little more this time than the last but still walked away with a pocket of coins lighter than she knew it should be, but couldn't begin to care. The silk shirts would benefit their new owners more than the pieces of copper and one silver piece would benefit her, and that's all she really cared about. She tucked the now empty bag into a deep pocket stitched into her cloak and continued on her way, weaving in and out of the crowd much more naturally than she had the first couple of times in the city. Now she at least knew to get out of other people's way rather than expect them to get out of hers; sure she was dressed as a noble, but without guards no one seemed inclined to give her special treatment, and she thrived on it.  
  
With a half a mile to go before she could reach her destination, she passed by a vendor selling grapes and figs and other fruits, a few people standing in front of his wares. The man behind the counter was busy working and packing up the orders that those with money were making, but Lexa could see his eyes falling to the edge of his stand every few seconds to look over a boy just standing there. The queen thought he looked to be eight, maybe nine, and while he wasn't the filthiest child she'd seen in the last five minutes, neither was he clean. Patches covered his breeches and shirt, a large tear in one elbow clearly needing another, and he just stared at a small bowl of figs on display on the shelf. He didn't even really seem to notice the man behind the counter, certainly didn't appear to see the little looks he kept giving the boy, and Lexa could practically see what was about to happen. The boy looked like he was trying to get up the nerve to grab for the figs while the man shifted behind the counter, clearly ready to pounce the moment he did. Not liking the thought of what might happen if any of that took place, Lexa quickly dug into her pocket and pulled out two copper pieces.  
  
“Those figs, please,” she indicated with a nod when the vendor glanced over at her, and when she held up the money between them the man gave her a smile, two or three teeth missing in the gesture.  
  
“Here ya 're, Lady,” he told her, trading the coins for the bowl, and she smiled at him in thanks and then turned to the boy. He watched her hesitantly, eyes flicking back and forth between her and the bowl, even as she held it out to him. “Here you go,” she told him, keeping her voice light in the hopes she wouldn't scare him. “You look like you could use something to eat.” He reached out slowly, glancing up at her still, and then carefully took the bowl from her. Without looking away from her he grabbed at one of the figs and then shoved it in his mouth, instantly smiling the moment the fruit hit his tongue.  
  
“Thanks Lady!” he exclaimed, holding the bowl closer to him now, dark red juice running down his chin. She returned his smile and nodded and then he turned around and took off, clutching his prize close.  
  
Lexa stood up straight again, still smiling a little when she happened to look back at the vendor. He was watching her now, eyebrows high on his forehead.  
  
“That was a kindness, Lady,” he told her, something uncertain in his tone. She gave a little shrug, her smile not wavering before she replied, “It was nothing. I only did what any decent person with a few spare coins would do.” She didn't tell him she wanted to do more one day, and would.  
  
The man continued to look at her, and then his lips curled up into a slow smile. He nodded to the money box he'd dropped her copper pieces into, saying, “What you gave is more n' what those figs is worth.” He grabbed a pear from another bowl on the counter, its peel a beautiful golden yellow. “Here,” he just added, holding the fruit out to her, “ta make up the diff'rence.”  
  
She accepted the pear, touched by the man's generosity. “Thank you,” she just said, hoping he could hear how much she meant it, but he just shook his head, flashed her another smile, and then turned to the next customer impatiently waiting for their purchase.  
  
Lexa ate the fruit during the rest of her walk, certain it was the juiciest pear she'd ever had. The juice dribbled over her lips and ran over her fingertips, a messier meal than maybe she'd ever had, but somehow that only made it better. Outside of The Rig she tossed what was left of the rind to the side of the street for the pigeons and rats and wiped her fingers against her cloak, feeling rebellious. She glanced overhead at the sign hanging up over the door and felt herself grinning, knowing no other sign would ever be able to set her heart beating so beautifully in her chest. Looking away from it she kept moving forward, making her way into the house.  
  
A guest stood by the far wall waiting to be seen to, eyeing over the two women leaning against the counter. One was Harper while the other wasn't someone the queen recognized, and when the blonde's gaze turned to the door Lexa saw her lips quirk up into a little smirk.  
  
“Clarke!” she called, shifting towards the doorway leading further into the house without turning around, “Your special friend is here!” As Lexa stepped further into the room Harper's smirk grew a little, telling the brunette, “Don't worry, she's not busy. She was just about to go to the kitchen for something but I'm sure she's already turned around.” She shot Lexa a wink and the queen shook her head, not even really trying to fight the little grin she felt growing along her lips.  
  
“Thank you, Harper,” she replied, focus flickering to the woman standing beside her as Luna indicated the second woman should go to their waiting guest. As she and the guest were making their way down the hall Clarke passed them, and the second Lexa saw her something in her gut settled even as her pulse began to beat even faster.  
  
“I've been wondering when I would see you again,” Clarke joked as she walked into the room, her arms folding over her chest, and Lexa's heart fluttered when she saw the way the redhead smiled at her. Clarke was wearing a simple gray dress tonight rather than a robe which told the queen she must not be working, and Lexa was glad to see her neck bare, the scarves she'd been wearing for so long no longer needed now that the bruising around her neck had faded. The tips of Lexa's fingers tingled as she thought about lightly brushing over the unmarked skin but she made sure to keep them hanging by her waist. “Sorry,” the queen replied, not looking away from the younger woman or even beginning to care about Harper or Luna or even the man who stood as always behind the desk with the house's mistress. “I would have come sooner if I could. I've been busy.”  
  
Clarke shook her head, still smiling even as Lexa finished. She wouldn't admit to it out loud, but it had been a very long week solely because every night she'd hoped the queen would make her way through that door once again. For the first few nights she knew she shouldn't expect it, couldn't make herself believe that the older woman would be able to get away again so soon, but she'd spent the last night or two spending her free time by Luna's desk, making small talk with the house mistress and anyone else who showed up between guests. She was sure at least Luna and Derrick must have noticed her glancing over towards the door any time it opened but couldn't quite keep herself from being so obvious. Now finally the queen stood in front of her again, and she tried to ignore the way seeing her made her heart squeeze in her chest.  
  
“No explanation needed, my lady,” she replied flippantly, giving Lexa a teasing smile as she took a couple of steps towards her. “I know you have a lot to do when I'm not around.” She gave a wink and loved the way it made the queen's lips twitch into a small smile.  
  
The door opened again behind Lexa and Clarke glanced over her shoulder out of habit as she reached out to take the brunette's hand. She froze before she could get it, eyes widening and jaw dropping just a centimeter or two before she could stop it. She stood in shock for no more than a second as her brain whirled, seeing one of the last faces she had been expecting as ice suddenly flowed through her veins. Somehow she managed to shake the reaction almost immediately, putting on a bright smile even as Anya glared at her over Lexa's shoulder.  
  
“Why my lady, I didn't expect you to bring a friend!” she exclaimed, doing her best to keep up the charade for the sake of the others watching in the room. Lexa frowned a little and her head tilted, and Clarke tried to give her a pointed look before smiling brightly at the furious woman now standing just inside the door. “You really do expect me to work tonight, don't you? But for you, you know I'd do anything to make you happy.” She stepped around the queen quickly and hurried over to the knight practically radiating anger who had yet to take her glare off of the brunette in the middle of the room. Clarke wrapped one arm around Anya's, feeling hard wiry muscles beneath her touch, and didn't have to look down at the woman's hands to know they were clenched into fists. She batted her eyelashes even as she squeezed her arm, trying to give the older woman a silent warning. “I'm so sorry my lady, if Lady Lexa had told me you would be joining us tonight I would have made sure to look more presentable for you. I know how much you love it when I look good for you.” She winked playfully, hiding the mad beating of her heart under the act she'd learned to play so long ago, and turned to tug Anya further into the room. When she turned she found Lexa watching them, eyes wide and face suddenly a little pale, and Clarke inwardly groaned. Of all the times for Lexa to lose her mask, this was absolutely one of the worst possible ones.  
  
“But, how...” the queen began, voice almost inaudible, and before she or Anya could say anything else Clarke wrapped her free arm through Lexa's, clamping down just as tightly as she still held to the knight. “Come on, my ladies,” she said, voice sickly sweet, “I'm sure you both would be _much_ more comfortable in my room. Luna, I'm not to be disturbed.”  
  
“Clarke, are you sure?” Derrick asked, and when she glanced over at him she found the big man eyeing over the sword each noblewoman carried strapped to their waists. He clearly read Anya's anger in her expression and had already shifted, probably itching to reach for his own weapon. She gave him a quick smile even as she continued to tug the two women towards the hallway, telling him, “I'm sure, Derrick, you don't have to worry about me.” He still didn't look like he believed her but didn't move, and the last thing Clarke heard as she bullied the two women into the hallway was Harper yelling behind her, “You really need to learn how to share Clarke! Now this just isn't fair!”  
  
“Not here,” Clarke warned under her breath when she saw Lexa open her mouth to say something. “Too many people. We'll go to my room.” The queen hesitated, still likely in shock from her best friend's unexpected arrival, but then finally nodded and managed to tear her eyes away from the blonde. Anya never turned her glare from either of them but now at least Clarke didn't feel as though she were dragging either of them with her, Lexa's pace picking up with her own and Anya never once falling even half a step behind.  
  
All the way up the stairs and through the halls Lexa's mind spun, her heart periodically stopping in her chest. She had no idea how Anya had found her, how she could possibly be here, but every time she tried to tell herself she was seeing things all she had to do was turn to find a hard piercing stare to know the truth. Emotions whirled wildly in her stomach so fast she was sure for a second she would be sick, and even when she swallowed the feeling down her gut still twisted until it was all she could feel. Even Clarke's hold against her arm couldn't break through the panic she felt settling in her chest though somewhere in the back of her mind she realized they were holding each other tightly. Anya's presence caused a black hole to open up inside her, and it was all Lexa could even begin to think about.  
  
Finally Clarke shoved them into her room, stepping in behind them and nearly slamming the door shut, and Lexa whirled on her best friend.  
  
“What are you _doing_ here?” she demanded to know, the panic turning to anger as the words rose from her throat.  
  
“What am _I_ doing here?” Anya fumed, a fire dancing madly in her eyes, “What are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“How did you find me?” Lexa asked instead, not willing to answer that question. “You were supposed to go to the library, or, or to bed!”  
  
“No, _you_ were supposed to go to bed,” Anya nearly shouted, poking Lexa roughly in the chest, too furious to hold anything back. “I knew you'd been acting strange lately, but I never expected anything like this!”  
  
“Keep your voices down,” Clarke warned, looking back and forth between them. “The walls are thin, people could hear you.” Speaking up for the first time seemed to remind Anya she was there, and the knight whirled on her.  
  
“And you,” she growled, taking a threatening step towards the redhead, “what the fuck do you think you're doing?” Clarke took a subconscious step back, the radiating fury directed at her forcing the motion, but without pause Lexa stepped between them.  
  
“Back off, Anya,” she warned, eyes flashing at her friend. She doubted the knight would actually harm Clarke, but even without a sword on her Anya was terrifying when angry, and she bet being armed would only scare Clarke more. “This isn't her fault.”  
  
“No it's yours!” Anya exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. She looked at Lexa incredulously, anger still flashing in her eyes. “What were you thinking, Lexa? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this is? You sneak away in the middle of the night to, to... to get laid?”  
  
Lexa's nostrils flared, her brow furrowing further. “That's not what this is, Anya,” she insisted, choosing not to bring up the last wonderful night she'd spent with Clarke. Yes they had slept together, but that had never been what any of this had been about, and she refused to let Anya think she would do this simply for sex. “Clarke has been showing me the city. I needed to see how my people live, how they _really_ live. She's been helping me.”  
  
“I don't care,” Anya snapped, fists tightening further at her sides. To Lexa's surprise Clarke stepped up beside her, not at all seeming to be intimidated by the knight's fury, and growled, “Really, be quiet. No one knows who she is, and if you give her away because you can't keep your voice down, anything that happens will be on you.” She held Anya's angry stare with her own, not backing down, and on some level Lexa was impressed. She couldn't spend much time thinking about it though, as a second later Anya continued, her voice actually quieter now though no less hard.  
  
“I don't care, Lexa,” she repeated, looking back to the brunette. “Whatever your reason, it doesn't matter. This is the _stupidest_ thing you've ever done! You _cannot_ parade around the city on your own without any kind of protection!”  
  
“I can protect myself!” Lexa growled, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Clarke slink back but didn't take her focus off of Anya. “I know how to fight; _you_ taught me how to fight! I needed to see my city, and this was the only way to do it!”  
  
“The only way?” Anya demanded, “No, you wanted to get away, to escape, and I get that, I really do. I'm with you every day, nearly all the time, remember? I get that you wanted to run away for a little while, but I never would have thought you would do it, especially not like this. You put _everyone_ in danger doing this!” Lexa sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flashing, but Anya could see that what she'd said had made a dent in her anger. Taking a step closer to the queen, she asked, “What would happen to everyone if anything happened to you? You say you can protect yourself, and sure, against a warrior you probably could, but the city isn't full of warriors. It's full of thieves and pick pockets and crowds who wouldn't know any better. If something had happened to you, that's it, the Kongeda would be over.” Realization suddenly sparked in her eyes and then they narrowed. “Is that why you've been training Aden more?” she wanted to know, scanning over the queen's face. “Because you've been coming out here, and known any time something could happen to you, but rather than stop you just decided you could train the only heir you have to take your place?”  
  
“No,” Lexa replied, taken aback by the accusation, “I've been training him because he needs to be trained! He needs to be able to make decisions without me, to understand what's right and wrong with our laws and how they affect all of our people.”  
  
As the heated debate between the two had continued, Clarke had edged back until she could sit heavily at the end of her bed. While they argued she bent over, elbows leaning against her thighs so she could hold her head in her hands, and her eyes clenched shut. She knew no matter what arguments Lexa made there was only one way this conversation could possibly end, and all she could do was wait for it. Guilt pooled in her gut when Anya talked about the danger of the city and she found herself biting her lip hard. She'd said many of the same things the first time the queen had showed up at The Rig but over the weeks she'd let her fears of what could happen slip away, enjoying her time with the older woman too much to let herself think about how bad of an idea this all was. Now she thought about it again, Anya's words putting images in her head of Lexa getting caught up in the middle of a crowd somewhere, of thugs far more intimidating than the pickpocket they'd encountered that first night noticing the fine quality of the queen's clothes or the way she walked, and her gut twisted and bile began to rise in the back of her throat. Other thoughts warred with those ones, a whole other kind of pain clenching at her stomach, but despite it she knew exactly what she had to do.  
  
“What did you do, follow me from the palace?” Lexa was saying as Clarke forced herself to tune back into the conversation. She sat up straighter, opening her eyes in time to see Anya grit her teeth, nostrils flaring as she answered, “Yes, and that just proves my point! I followed you all the way here, Lexa, and you had no idea! You were so busy thinking about, about this place, about what you were doing that you had no idea anyone was watching you! If I had been someone else and had attacked you could have been hurt!”  
  
The queen opened her mouth to say something but Clarke cut her off.  
  
“She's right,” she cut in, her voice far quieter than either of theirs had been, but nevertheless it ended the arguing, at least for the moment. They both turned to look at her, hurt flashing across Lexa's face and surprise evident along the knight's, and the younger woman had to bite the inside of her cheek, stealing herself to say what she knew needed to be said but that might just break her heart. “You know she's right, Lexa.” Clarke stood up and took a step closer to the brunette, her expression open. “We can't keep doing this. It isn't safe.”  
  
“Clarke,” the queen began, her eyes scanning the redhead's face, but Clarke shook her head.  
  
“No, she's right,” she said, “it isn't safe. What if something happened to you? I know you're strong, Lexa, know you can take care of yourself, but sometimes things happen in the city. It can be dangerous, and if people realized who you were?” She shook her head again, heart rising in her throat at just the thought. “You're too valuable, too important to walk around on your own. We both know that.” Somehow without entirely meaning to she reached out, pulling one of Lexa's hands into both of her own, giving it a squeeze. Looking up at the queen from beneath her eyelashes because it was too hard to look at her straight on, she murmured, “I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you. And if we keep doing this, something will happen: that's just how life goes.”  
  
Lexa stared at the woman in front of her, entirely shocked when she suddenly felt her lip quiver. Instantly she tried to trap down the burning in her chest that was quickly rising in her throat, only being so successful. She was at least proud that her voice didn't waver as she asked quietly, “What if I'm not ready to say goodbye?” To her surprise Clarke let out a wet chuckle, and she noticed the dip in her neck as she had to swallow thickly. The younger woman looked down for a second probably to try to get control over herself, and when she looked back up she met Lexa's eyes with a sad smile. “We always knew this was temporary,” she reminded the queen. “It couldn't last for long. It's just... it's ending a couple weeks sooner than we might have thought.” The hands holding Lexa's squeezed again, and with the little pressure it was as though the queen's walls fell down instantly.  
  
Without caring that Anya was in the room and watching, Lexa stepped forward, swiftly closing the space between her and Clarke. The hand not being held went to the redhead's neck, cupping the back of it gently as she pushed forward and pulled the younger woman closer until their lips met. Lexa held Clarke tightly to her, putting everything she was in that kiss, everything she hoped to be, and when Clarke let go of her hand to cling to her waist both of the queen's hands went to her face, needing to hold her. Her body ached to sink into the other woman's, needing nothing more than for Clarke to hold her for as long as possible, and the lightheaded feeling she got from the kiss mixed painfully with the strain she could feel building in her chest. Every nerve in her body strained to pull Clarke closer and closer and closer until no one would ever be able to tear them apart, but Lexa knew that could never happen. As desperately as she kissed the younger woman and as painfully as her heart beat, her rational self told her this had to happen, that Clarke and Anya were both right and there was nothing she could do about it. Her stubborn side flared up for the flash of a moment before immediately snuffing out, and then all she was doing was clinging to Clarke for as long as she possibly could.  
  
Clarke could feel the queen's desperation in the way she held her, the way her lips pressed so forcefully against her own, and she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her fingers dug into Lexa's skin beneath her clothes as though if they burrowed far enough they wouldn't have to let go, and her heart raced and throat burned. Her mind whirled, spinning weakly to try to find a way to fix this, but she knew there wasn't technically anything to fix. Ever since the first moment Lexa walked into her home she'd always known this couldn't last, had known there would come a day when the queen wouldn't come back, but she'd allowed herself to forget it. Now that day was here and she hated the way she could feel her heart aching in her chest but knew she deserved it; she'd broken her own rule, allowed herself to truly care about someone else, allowed someone in past the walls she'd built up, and now she had to pay for it. She began making that payment even as they kissed and clung to each other, and knew she wouldn't stop paying for a very long time.  
  
When they finally parted, only their mouths disconnected, otherwise still clinging to each other. Clarke looked over to see a single tear slip from Lexa's eye and roll slowly down her cheek. Gently she reached up and wiped it away, the pad of her thumb lingering as it ran over her skin.  
  
“I really do think you're the greatest queen any nation's ever had,” she murmured, managing even to give a little smile, one corner of her mouth curling up. Her eyebrows rose a little and Lexa let out a wet laugh, eyes closing for a second as she leaned forward and rested her forehead lightly on the younger woman's. Clarke's eyes quickly followed, sinking into the comforting feel of Lexa's skin against hers even as emotion tore through her gut. “I have no doubt you'll make everyone else realize it too.”  
  
“Thank you, Clarke,” Lexa whispered, opening her eyes to look at the other woman without pulling away. Clarke's eyes opened a second later and she almost lost use of her voice as she stared into a bright and shining blue she prayed she would never be able to forget. She doubted it would even be possible, but if it ever did she knew she would truly be lost. “You have helped me with so much. So much.” She felt the other woman's jaw clench beneath her fingers and ran her thumb along it, the motion as soothing to her as she hoped it was to the redhead. “I'm not sure I know how to tell you how much I appreciate all of it.”  
  
“I think I know,” Clarke replied with another forced smile and the flicker of her lips made Lexa's tug up just a little. She nodded with her forehead still pressed against the younger woman's, and then closed her eyes again. She had to swallow twice before she was able to get out, “If you ever need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to come to me. I owe you... more than I could possibly repay.”  
  
“You don't owe me anything, Lexa,” she heard Clarke say and opened her eyes again, giving the younger woman a look. It just made her let out a sound that might have been a laugh trapped in her chest, and then the queen felt her nod. “Okay,” she gave in, “If anything comes up I'll, I know where to find you.” The nodding of their connected heads could have come from either of them then, and Lexa bit her lip hard to keep the other words desperately trying to break free from her chest from bubbling up; they would only make this harder, and this was already the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do.  
  
Finally, after another long moment of just holding each other, Lexa forced herself to step back, ignoring the cry of her heart as Clarke's hands fell from her body. She stared at her for another few seconds, trying to take in every detail of the incredible woman in front of her as Clarke seemed to do the same, and then she made herself turn around.  
  
“Come on,” she said gruffly to Anya, not able to look at her best friend anymore than she could look at the redhead. Looking at Anya would only make the fury stirring around her gut whirl back up, and if she dared to look back at Clarke she doubted she would be able to make herself leave the room, so instead she stared straight ahead as she forced herself to take the few steps to the door. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the knight glance from the younger woman still standing by the bed to herself, and then after a second of hesitation she followed the queen. Lexa stopped just in front of the door, staring at it for a short beat before she let herself say, “Goodbye Clarke.” She didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed her voice didn't waver.  
  
“Goodbye Lexa,” she heard Clarke return, voice quiet but otherwise holding, and the queen nodded once before she reached out and grabbed the door handle, quickly pulling it open. She didn't look back as she stepped out of the room and then quickly began making her way down the hallway, her hands shifting behind her back and grasping desperately at her wrists as she went.  
  
Clarke watched the queen and her knight disappear from her room, and for far too long she stared at the closed door left behind them. Maybe she should have insisted on walking the two out, at the very least to keep up appearances, but she knew there was no way she'd be able to hide her emotions from other people. Luna and Derrick didn't need to see her now, didn't need the opportunity to read the devastation she could feel creeping into her expression, and if any of her friends were down with them they didn't need to see it either. She needed to take a few minutes to pull herself together, to remind herself that this was the way things needed to be and that she had more important things to do than hurt over a woman she barely knew leaving her life. She had her revenge to think about, plans that needed planning and people that needed identifying, and the queen had just become a distraction for her. It was all better this way, would make it all easier, and she repeated it over and over again in her mind until she could pretend she believed it.  
  
Finally, to try to force herself to believe those thoughts, she detached herself from the spot she'd been standing in, mechanically making her way over to her closet. Her eyes flickered to a brown dress carefully settled among the others, but then she made herself look away and ignored the way her heart squeezed tightly in her chest. She knelt down and pried up the loose floorboard, grabbing the box beneath it and took it over to her bed, climbing in and settling herself against the headboard. As studiously as ever she opened the box and arranged the papers inside in front of her, but tonight rather than scanning over every piece of parchment thoroughly, she just stared at one after they were all laid out. She'd memorized everything in front of her months ago and should be able to just glance at a single image or word and know everything about that specific clue towards her revenge, but tonight her mind refused to grasp any of it. It was too busy flashing through other very specific images, and with each one Clarke felt her heart give a painful thud. Lexa's smile was followed by the image of her carefully studying those around her, only to be followed up by bright green eyes brimming with curiosity and understanding, pain and giddiness, and with each image Clarke curled in on herself a little more.  
  
“Stupid,” she whispered angrily, leaning back and lightly hitting her head off of the headboard, and then her knees were shifting up to her chest and her arms had wrapped around them. “Stupid,” she repeated, but this time rather than anger winding its way through the word her voice broke, and the moment it did the tears Clarke had been fighting back practically since she saw Anya step into The Rig spilled over, and she hid her face against her knees as her shoulders shook.  
  
How could she have let herself be so stupid?

***

Neither Lexa or Anya said anything as they left The Rig, and when Luna and Derrick both looked at them curiously as they passed the desk the queen couldn't even make herself look over to them. They remained quiet as they began making their way back through the streets, Anya just a single step behind Lexa, and the brunette was thankful for it; she could feel her emotions brewing just beneath the surface and wasn't sure how long she would be able to hold them back. Unfortunately for her after a mile or so her best friend seemed to have had enough of the silence.  
  
“You care about her,” she stated suddenly, and Lexa's throat tightened. The queen didn't reply, didn't so much as look back at her, forcing herself to just continue staring forward. From the corner of her eye she could see the blonde studying her, and she gripped her wrist until she felt her nails bite against her skin. “When I saw where you were going, I knew this was all about Clarke, but I thought it had to just be sex. But it wasn't, was it?” Still Lexa said nothing, desperately fighting back against the water she could feel building in her eyes as her expression remained as emotionless as she could make it. Anya's eyes scanned over her again, and then she shook her head. “You knew nothing could happen there, Lexa. You know who you are; there was no way you could possibly be with-”  
  
“Don't say it,” Lexa finally bit out, a dark warning flashing in the few words, and Anya could see fury flash across her face. “Don't you dare call her a whore.”  
  
“-with a _commoner_ ,” Anya emphasized, and whether that was what she'd planned to say all along Lexa didn't know and couldn't quite make herself care. The knight's brow furrowed and then she shook her head as she gave the queen a look. “What was the point of this, Lexa? You risked your life I don't know how many times just to see one woman? I know you're not the idiot you're acting like, so why do it?”  
  
“Why?” Lexa asked, and then she came to a full stop, whirling around on Anya. The knight came to a stand-still beside her, eyes widening a little at the amount of anger and hurt she found glaring back at her. “Because for the first time in my life I found myself with someone who actually saw me.” She didn't care that they were very nearly stopped in the middle of the street or that other people were passing by them and giving them strange looks, all she could do was glare at her best friend and let the anger and pain she'd felt building spill over in her chest and spread through the rest of her body. Lexa's grip on her wrists released and her hands fell to fists at her side, her entire body quivering with this feeling of absolute loss. “She never held back what she wanted to say because of who I am or what I might think! While everyone else either spends their time telling me what they think I want to hear or complaining to me about something, she always just talked to me. She taught me about what life is really like for the common people, and she showed me-” Her voice broke and Lexa shook her head angrily, closing her eyes to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened to fall. “She showed me it's okay, to be the way I am. She never made me feel... wrong.” Lexa opened her eyes again, finding her best friend staring at her, lips pursed, and she felt something crack inside her. Looking away, she heard herself continue a little more quietly, “I started this to learn more about my people, but I continued because... because I fell in love with her. That's why.”  
  
They stood there for a while, Anya staring at her while Lexa refused to look at the knight, the admission hanging between them. She'd wanted to tell Clarke before she'd left but had known it would do no good, but apparently she hadn't been able to get through this night without the words finding a way out of her somehow. She waited for the other woman to say something, not knowing what she should expect, but the silence drew out around them. Finally when someone almost bumped against Anya, yelling at them not to just stand in the middle of the street, the knight looked away.  
  
“Come on, we still need to get back,” she said gruffly, making no indication she had any thoughts about the words that had moments ago come out of Lexa's mouth, but rather than question her the queen just mechanically started forward again. She didn't think she wanted to talk about them, didn't really want to acknowledge what she'd said when it was pointless, so she left the words behind her as they made their way back to the palace.  
  
They snuck back into the kitchen, earning only a small glare from the single servant practically falling asleep against one of the counters, and then headed up towards the queen's bedroom. Anya didn't leave her side until they were in front of Lexa's room again, and the queen had a feeling she wouldn't be walking away as usual once she was inside. She didn't care enough to say anything about it, couldn't even muster up a word to either of the Guards who were giving both of them strange looks, and just slipped into her room. With the door closed and surrounded by the safety of her seclusion, Lexa slowly peeled off her clothes and changed into her nightgown, her arms weighing her down as though they each had a sword strapped to them. She didn't even bother trying to get into bed, knowing for a fact there was no way she would be able to sleep, and instead sat at her desk, pulling out the bound book she'd been writing in for weeks now. Her intention was just to go through all the ideas she'd written down, no way in the right state of mind to try to add to it, but as she flipped through the pages she found she couldn't focus even on that. The excitement she'd had only a few hours ago was now stripped away completely, and in its place was the anguish of a broken heart. Rather than think of the ideas on the pages in front of her, all she could grasp were memories of the woman she'd left behind for the last time, and each image of Clarke that flashed across her mind's eye just made the sharp ache that had settled in her stomach grow more and more powerful.  
  
The pages blurred in her vision, and then the next second the ink itself blurred as one and then two tears dropped to soak into the parchment as Lexa's loss finally overwhelmed her. She no longer tried to hold it all back, and let herself break right then and there, crying quietly in the silence of her big room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I might need to hide again after this chapter...


	20. Chapter Twenty

“...the fields are almost ready. We've had nearly two dozen workers preparing them every day for the last week. The targets for the archery contest have been set, and the earth has been cleared away and packed down for the jousting and sword contests. Another dozen servants have been hired for the stables to help those competing in jousting to prepare and saddle their horses, and the stands have been cleaned and polished for the comfort of the viewers.” Titus looked up from the list he'd been reading off of towards the queen at the table across from him. “All in all, it looks like we should be prepared without any problems as long as everything continues going as planned.”  
  
Lexa nodded, expecting nothing less. Despite the last minute planning she'd always known they would be able to put the tournament on without any issues; her head adviser was far too detail-oriented for them to miss anything. The big event was only a few days away and they were right on schedule as she'd known they would be. “Very good,” she just said, and he nodded respectfully under the small praise.  
  
Nia sat a little further back in her chair, head tilting back just a little as she raised an eyebrow at the adviser. “How is the food looking?” Titus laid the page he'd been reading off of down and carefully thumbed through a few others before selecting one. Reading off of it, he told her, “The deer and boar from the hunt are being prepared, and we've purchased six different kinds of fish to go along with it. The kitchen is also preparing five different fruit dishes, highlighting all of the vegetables that are currently in season, and I'm told they've been baking non-stop since mid-week. Even so it's been requested that we hire more kitchen staff, along with the fifteen servers we were already planning to hire.” The duchess nodded agreeably as though they should expect nothing less, but Lexa frowned a little.  
  
“Isn't that all a bit much?” she wanted to know. Her aunt's expression pulled back a little, her forehead smoothing out as though she were holding back what she wanted to say, and Aden and Anya who were also in the room just looked over at her. Titus's brow furrowed, glancing down at his list again and shook his head before looking back over to her.  
  
“It's to be expected, Your Majesty,” he stated, speaking gently. She'd been short with people lately, quicker than usual to lash out or cut an idea down, so he knew he needed to tread carefully. “Everyone's expecting a feast for each of the three meals the day of the tournament. Those who are competing will of course eat less for the morning and noon meals, but we still need to present a lavish spread. The evening feast will outshine anything else that has been made so far this summer.”  
  
“Even so, that's a lot of food,” Lexa pointed out, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Even with every noble in the city attending each meal, I still doubt it will all get eaten.”  
  
“Alexandria, that's not the point,” her aunt told her as she smiled over at her, and it was so obviously fake Lexa wanted to roll her eyes. She almost did but held it back for the sole reason she didn't want to have to sit through a lecture after dealing with this long meeting. “Everything about the tournament is meant to impress your guests, show them your wealth and power. You throw it, and it's all held in your honor; it reminds everyone that you are the queen and they all serve you.”  
  
“It's still wasteful,” Lexa argued, not giving an inch. Her voice became a little harder even though she didn't necessarily mean it to as she continued, “I have no intention of being a queen who wastes her money or her resources. There is no need to have that much food when so much of it won't get eaten.”  
  
Titus looked down at his list again, his lips pursing. “I'm sorry Your Majesty, but the food has already been ordered, and most is here. We can reach out and cancel whatever isn't here yet, but the kitchen may not be happy about it, nor will the vendors we're getting it from.”  
  
Lexa thought about that, her gaze shifting up towards the ceiling. She hated the idea of so much food going to waste when so many were hungry, but also disliked the idea of taking business away from people who likely needed it. Her thoughts went to little Kinder and his younger sisters and all of the others she'd seen with so little, and suddenly she had an idea. Looking back down at Titus she stated clearly, “Do not cancel the orders. Have everything be prepared as planned. Once the evening meal is over that night we will take anything that hasn't been eaten into the city and donate to those who are unable to feed themselves.” Out of the corner of her eyes she could see her aunt's lips purse but she didn't acknowledge it. “Have a wagon ready to be loaded as soon as the meal has ended and have the kitchen staff and servants ready to get the food travel-ready. If we need to hire more people for it, do so.” One finger tapped on the arm of her chair, going over the plan once more silently before she added, “Tell Indra to have a squad ready to escort it into the city.” She nodded over to Anya sitting not far on her left but didn't actually look at her. “Anya will lead the squad. We will make sure everyone eats that night.”  
  
“Are you sure that's what you want, Your Majesty?” Titus asked even as he began reaching for a quill to write her orders down. She nodded, and then had one more thought. “In fact, why don't we send out some of our hunters to see if we can get any pheasants, or another deer or two? There are hundreds of people who could use a good meal, and I want to feed as many of them as we can.”  
  
Titus's eyebrows shot up but he nodded, quickly taking down the note. “We will need to hire even more kitchen staff if we're going to have more game come in,” he murmured, the thought as much as to himself as it was to the room, and Lexa gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders. “Do it then. Hire as many as it takes to have it all ready.”  
  
“What about the tournament itself?” Nia wanted to know, apparently having enough of the food talk. “I assume the winner's purse for each of the events has already been taken care of?” Titus bowed slightly from his shoulders to the duchess, informing her, “Of course, Your Grace. The schedule of events has been carefully organized, and we have put together the winner's purse for each one. The day will begin with archery, starting with the beginners competition designed more for squires to show off their skill than knights and then we'll move on to the more advanced rounds...”  
  
On and on Titus went, going over every little detail of all the games, but the more he talked the more Lexa began to tune him out. She knew everything was or would be ready because they'd gone over it all a dozen times already, and honestly at this point she just didn't care anymore. Where once she'd cared, had even been excited for the contests, now they were just something to get through so she could get on with her life. She was quickly growing tired of pretending any of it really mattered, but as queen there as nothing else she could do. At least now she was able to use the tournament as a good way of giving back to her people, the idea of feeding so many sparking a tiny bit of pride within her and briefly managing to lift her mood, but that was really all she could make herself care about. As Titus continued talking and Nia kept interrupting with questions Lexa found her gaze sliding past the adviser's shoulder until she was staring mindlessly out the window.  
  
For two days now she'd lived like this, finding it hard to enjoy anything about her day. She went from meeting to meeting as easily as always, but now she had to force herself to pay attention in them, and often times even then she left in a fog, not entirely sure what had been discussed or decided. She tried to put on a mask, to hide her thoughts and feelings even more permanently than she used to, and to an extent she'd been successful. The vast majority of the people she spoke to didn't notice anything, or if they caught her staring off she was able to easily lie her way out of it, claiming to have been going over details of the tournament in her head. If she was quieter now, most people didn't know her well enough to notice. Only now and then did she notice looks from those closest to her, Aden worried and Titus curious, but neither of them had tried to talk to her about it. The only one who knew what had caused this shift was still Anya, and even though the knight still acted as the queen's shadow, Lexa had barely spoken to her since they'd returned to the palace from their impromptu trip to the city. Lexa wasn't purposefully trying to ignore her, per se, but she also had a hard time just looking at her best friend without thinking about what she'd lost. Since thinking about Clarke made the hole open up in her gut, she did her best to avoid anything that reminded her of the dark-haired woman. It was an impossible goal, but one she wasn't sure she would survive without.  
  
Finally Titus lowered his last list and the duchess remained quiet, her questions apparently all asked for the time being, and Lexa stood up.  
  
“Thank you Titus,” she told him, nodding to the man even as he bowed slightly. “You've done well with all this. I know there are still a number of things that need to get done for us to be fully ready within three days, so I won't keep you anymore. We'll meet again tomorrow morning, and then finalize everything the following day before the morning's audiences.”  
  
“That sounds good, Your Majesty,” he replied, “I'll have better numbers for you tomorrow, and I'll go speak to the kitchen now and then send the hunters out.” She nodded her approval and he began to tidy up the lists in front of him, gathering them up before making his exit from the room. As he went Lexa turned to her aunt, Nia still sitting easily in her chair.  
  
“And thank you, Aunt,” she told her, “your insights and thoughts have been appreciated as we've brought everything together.”  
  
“Of course,” Nia said, rising as she spoke, and then she stepped over to Lexa, lightly pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks. The queen returned the motion, silently wondering why they bothered with the silly gesture when they both knew they didn't particularly like each other, but family was family and an image needed to be portrayed. “You know I'm always happy to help in any way I can, Alexandria. I think this tournament will be one to remember, especially considering it came together so quickly.” She then turned around, motioning lightly, and Ontari stepped away from the wall where she'd been since the meeting began, the duchess's own silent shadow. “Now however I'm afraid I must go attend Lord Emerys and his sons; they've invited me and my son to lunch.”  
  
“Enjoy,” Lexa said and her aunt gave her a polite smile before she and Ontari left the room, the duchess walking as regally as any queen. Lexa couldn't even find it within herself to care about her aunt's pompous air.  
  
“Aden, you can go,” she told him, waving one hand dismissively as she settled back down in her chair, sinking into it a little. Lexa pulled a scroll still laying on its surface over to her, and opened it to begin reading it over. It was just information about the fish trade in the market, nothing particularly interesting, but she read over it anyway. “We're done here for now, why don't you go get some training in while the Guard is still working?”  
  
Rather than do as she said, he didn't move from his seat, and after a few seconds Lexa looked up at him, raising her brow. He appeared to be studying her, his eyes flicking over her face, and inwardly she let out a sigh. “What?”  
  
Her brother frowned fully then and met her eyes. “Lexa, are you okay? You've been acting a little... strange, the last couple of days.”  
  
“I'm fine,” she replied tersely, trying to look bored as her eyes dropped back to the scroll. “You can stop studying me and go practice your sword work.” She glanced over then at Anya, the knight watching her as well. “Take Anya with you; I know it's been a couple of days since you two were really able to train together.”  
  
“He can work with Indra and Lincoln,” Anya stated, her voice entirely even and it instantly grated on Lexa's nerves. “I'll be staying with you.”  
  
The queen knew the blonde's devotion to stay by her side was not because she thought anyone would attack her while she was in the palace, but because she didn't trust Lexa to stay there. She clenched her jaw, anger rising without hesitation in her chest, and without meaning to she gripped the scroll she held harder.  
  
“You can assign someone else to watch over me,” she growled, shooting a look at the knight. “I have work to do and don't plan to leave this room until my meeting this afternoon with Nyko. You can meet me back here for it if you need to, but I do _not_ need you staring at me while I go over these scrolls.” When Anya's expression just remained even, giving no hint she was even listening, the heat of Lexa's anger shot up, but she managed to keep it out of her voice almost completely. “Get someone to watch the door if you don't trust me. You can even have them report back to you on whether I leave and for how long. If you try hard enough, I bet you could even get everyone in the palace to start keeping track of where I am and what I do, so you won't have to be with me to always be watching me. You wouldn't want me to actually be able to have a little privacy after all.” The last few words she bit out, her anger boiling over to add an extra snap to them, and when she heard it she quickly closed her mouth, not wanting to let anything else out. She quickly looked back at the scroll, not wanting to see Aden's surprise or Anya's understanding, and threw herself back into fish numbers.  
  
After about a minute she heard a chair scrape against the floor, and out of her periphery she could see Anya standing up. The knight turned to Aden, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on, Aden,” she just said, “the queen gave her order. You can show me more of what Indra's taught you.” The prince shot one last long look at his sister and Lexa refused to meet it, and then he nodded and stood up as well. “Alright,” he just said, following the knight to the door. Lexa still hadn't looked up from the scroll when she heard them both stop, and then heard Anya say, “And I will be assigning someone to this door. They won't bother you, but they will tell me if you go anywhere. So don't be stupid, Your Majesty.”  
  
Lexa bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything in return, knowing she didn't have control of her tongue right now, but it didn't really matter; Anya and Aden left, not waiting to see if she had any kind of reply.  
  
The second the door closed behind them, Lexa let out a harsh breath, closing her eyes and tossing the scroll she held back to the table. She followed it, her body leaning over until her arms were crossed over the table and her forehead was buried against them and she let out another sigh. She honestly hadn't meant to get angry with Anya but she hadn't been able to stop it. As easy as it was to blame the knight for this hollow pain that had settled inside her gut, she knew it wasn't her fault, not really. Anya had just brought Lexa back to reality long before she was ready to face it. She'd always known her time with Clarke would come to an end sooner than she wanted but she'd ignored the warnings, those from the voice in the back of her head and the ones that had come from the redhead herself. Now every moment served as a stark reminder to what she had lost and why she had lost it. Every time anyone bowed or mumbled out her title, any time she was looked to to make a decision or plan another piece of this stupid tournament, she was reminded the only reason she'd needed to leave Clarke behind was because of who she was and what was expected of her.  
  
If she were anyone else it might have worked, this strange friendship might have lasted, and she could have lived in peace. Even if she couldn't have been with Clarke they would have still been able to spend time together, been able to talk, and it would have been enough. She missed the younger woman's touch but so much more she missed her presence, missed the confusing and wonderful way she'd never seemed to fully hold back from the queen. They had connected in a way Lexa couldn't remember every connecting with another person, not even in the way she and Costia had connected during their brief time together, and now being without Clarke made Lexa feel unfinished. She felt as though she'd lost a part of herself, crippled in a way no one else could understand, and it was this loneliness hanging over her that wicked away so quickly at her patience.  
  
Even as she suffered through this crippling loneliness, she knew there was no one to blame for all of this but herself. It had been her decision to go into the city, her choice to keep talking with the younger woman even as she could feel herself growing more and more attached to her, which made it all entirely her fault she now couldn't so much as close her eyes without picturing blue staring back at her. She'd barely slept the last couple of nights for that exact reason, the few hours she did manage to sleep spent dreaming about nothing but Clarke. She'd brought all of it on herself, but that knowledge didn't help the ache she felt in her chest every time she tried to breathe go away.  
  
Lexa had to bite her lip as thoughts of Clarke stirred in her mind again, images that had kept her up at night nearly in tears circling through her head. An all too familiar burning began to climb up the back of her throat and she quickly forced it down, not allowing herself to succumb to more tears. She'd spilled enough of them already, more than she cared to admit, and knew she had to be done with it. Like her title or not, she was the queen, and that meant she needed to get her focus back. She would have the rest of her life to mourn leaving Clarke, but that didn't mean she could forget her duties as she did so. Taking a deep breath she sat back up, each vertebrae of her spine clicking into place as her back naturally straightened. Her head tilted back and her shoulders set squarely before she reached for the scroll she'd dropped and began reading it over again. When she'd finished with the fish trade she moved on to the next piece of news, doing her best to think of nothing but her work and get herself back on track to where she'd been before she'd ever met the dark-haired woman who had made her question everything she thought she knew. She hunkered down for the rest of the morning, successfully going over all of the scrolls in front of her and managing to catch herself the few times her mind started to wander before her thoughts could take her too far down the rabbit hole. The few candles in the room burned and the sunlight streamed in from the window, and she repositioned herself so she could be sitting directly in it. The heat from the sunlight helped loosen her muscles a little bit, and she felt herself relax just a little bit more.  
  
Finally after a few hours had passed, Lexa stood up again, turning a little where she stood to stretch her back. She gathered all the scrolls and put them away, and then with her head held high made her way to the door. Opening it, she found a member of the Guard standing outside it, her eyes flicking nervously to the queen, and Lexa simply gave her a little nod. Anya stood beside the Guard, briefly glancing over at the brunette as she stepped into the hallway, and as the queen continued she fell into step behind her. Lexa noticed she wore a different tunic than she'd had on during the meeting that morning and felt her brow rise just a hair; Aden must be getting better if the knight now needed to change her shirt after their training sessions. Neither woman said anything to the other as they walked but Lexa felt a flash of guilt shoot through her at the sight of her best friend. She and Anya never really apologized to one another, the entire practice something that just made them both uncomfortable, but she would still have to think of a way to make up for the way she'd been acting towards the knight over the past couple days. At the very least she swore to herself she wouldn't lash out at her friend again when her anger at the situation flared up.  
  
They made their way to one of the smaller dining areas, not the main dining room where she and Aden entertained their aunt but a room with a smaller, more intimate space. The table in this room was only about half the size of the one in the main dining room, room for no more than four chairs around it. It was well-lit by a large window and a bookshelf stood to one side since both Lexa and Aden were known to read often when they ate just the two of them, but otherwise the room was lightly furnished. Two members of the Guard stood inside the doorway and a third man stood perusing the bookshelf, but when he heard them coming he turned. Lord Nyko smiled warmly at her when he saw them, bowing politely as the queen made her way across the room to him. Anya took up her place behind Lexa's chair even before the brunette moved to the table.  
  
“You Majesty,” the lord said as he rose from his bow, still smiling kindly. “Thank you for agreeing to join me for lunch. You honor me.”  
  
“I am happy to be here, Lord Nyko,” Lexa replied lightly, and it was only a little bit of a lie. As far as her suitors went, Nyko was one of the easiest ones to get along with. He seldom actually acted as though he were trying to court her, didn't gesticulate at her all the time, and they actually managed to have good conversations about things Lexa believed were truly important and not just the frivolous talk most of her suitors tried for.  
  
As though they'd been waiting for her to arrive, a pair of servants walked into the room, carting a large tray. They began to set two spots at the table with the meal the kitchen had prepared and Nyko held out his arm to her. Lexa politely accepted it and let him lead her to the table and then waited for him to pull her chair out for her, sitting once he'd done so. She was relatively sure the little gestures were simply polite rather than an effort to woo her, but even so she was happiest when he stepped away to take his own seat. With the table set and the meal laid out in front of them Lexa served him first as her guest, and then helped herself to the sauteed pheasant cooked in a butter and wine sauce, as well as the mushrooms and onions that had been cooked along with it. It was a rich meal but not extensive, and at least she could be sure that none of it would be wasted; whatever they didn't eat would likely go to the servants and she was sure they had all earned the delicious meal.  
  
As they ate Lexa and Nyko fell into what first was just polite chatter, but what quickly became an interesting conversation. He told her all about the Blue Cliffs and their villages, and she listened intently, watching him as he talked about his people. Unlike many in their ranks she could see he cared about his responsibilities to those who looked up to him, and she respected that about him. If she absolutely had to marry a man, she thought he might be her best choice. They'd never had anything less than an intelligent conversation, and due to that she'd found she genuinely enjoyed talking to him. He wasn't the most handsome of the men trying to win her over, but that didn't exactly matter to her: there was only one person she knew whose looks took her breath away, and it wasn't likely she'd ever see that person again. At almost twenty years older than her, Nyko was easily the oldest of her suitors, but it wasn't exactly uncommon for women to marry older men. He'd been married once before and had lost his wife to illness eight years ago. With his first marriage he'd even had a few children, so Lexa could even hope he would have little interest in any kind of particularly physical relationship should they marry. They would have to have one or two children to secure her line, but after that maybe it would be enough for him. They could live amicably together, ruling together and raising their heirs, and perhaps Lexa could even grow to think of him as a friend. She studied him carefully as they ate and talked while not letting on to any of her thoughts. As the meal continued on, she thought she could certainly choose worse people to be king than Nyko.  
  
It wasn't what she wanted, but being queen wasn't about always getting what she wanted, it was about doing what was best for her nation, and she thought that maybe he would do. She still had a few days to decide, but so far he seemed to be her best option.  
  
She forced herself to pay attention to their conversation, desperately trying not to think about the person she wished she could choose. Trying to compare her best option with the option she truly wanted only made her heart ache painfully, and she had to take a sip of her wine to wash down the burning heat building in her throat. Someday she hoped just thinking about Clarke wouldn't cause such powerful reactions, but a part of her knew it wasn't likely; the younger woman had gotten under her skin, stolen her heart, and in truth Lexa knew she never wanted it back.  
  
Hurting for Clarke was better than never knowing Clarke, and if she had to she would learn how to live with this pain, even if it meant never going another day without feeling this fire crackle beneath her skin. It was worth it, and Lexa felt herself sit up a little bit straighter in her chair, staring at the man smiling across from her. Silently she let herself pretend it was the redhead talking with her, and the queen let herself fall into the fantasy, closing her eyes just for a moment as she let herself get swept away in it.

***

Clarke carefully finished pinning up her hair, securing most of it to her head while just a few curling strands hung around her face. The dress she wore clung to her body as they all did, but this one at least showed a little less of her bosom than most of the others. It wasn't the finer quality of the gowns she'd worn to the palace, but the green fabric would nevertheless stand out in the streets of the city. One hand pressed down against the skirt as she glanced at it, and Clarke had to bite her lip lightly as the shade reminded her of a set of eyes she couldn't get out of her head. Doing her best to banish the thought as well as the painful twinge she felt in her chest, she ran her fingers over the necklace laying against her skin. She fiddled with its pendant for a second, trying to use it to ground her, and then turned and left her room.  
  
At mid-day, The Rig was in full swing, most of its rooms occupied by at least one pair, but she passed them all as she made her way down the stairs and through the halls. A few of the guests she walked by tried to make a grab for her despite someone already leading them to or from a room, but Clarke was able to dodge every attempt after years of practice. On the ground floor she headed to the front room, nodding to Luna and Derrick as she went by them, both in their usual places. “I'll be back later,” she told her mistress who just hmm-ed at her as she went, barely even glancing away from her book. Leaving the building she found Jasper, Maya and Niylah around the bench, and when they saw her Jasper let out a long whistle.  
  
“Fuck Clarke, you must be going to someone special,” he told her, eyeing her over as she walked towards them. Jasper's lips curled up into a smirk, his eyebrows wiggling a little as he continued, “Are you all dressed up for your Lady Lexa?”  
  
Hearing the queen's name said out loud after living in a mantra that had circled in her head for the past couple of days made Clarke's throat burn, made it suddenly a little more difficult to breathe. She managed to hold the reaction in, forcing herself to smile at him as she replied, “No, I'm not dressed up for her, just someone else.” She swallowed a little before adding as lightly as she could, “I don't think we'll be seeing Lady Lexa around here anymore.”  
  
Niylah frowned while Jasper's eyebrows shot up. Maya's head tilted a little to the side, scanning Clarke's face as she asked, “Why not? She seemed to like you.” The redhead waved a hand, doing her best to act unaffected while she answered, “She just got busy, that's all. Busy enough that I doubt she'll have any time for me anymore.”  
  
Maya shook her head, sympathy in her eyes as she met Clarke's. “I'm sorry. I know you liked spending time with her. You two were kind of friends, right?”  
  
The observation made it more difficult to remain straight-faced, the burning in her throat suddenly even harder to ignore, but Clarke's entire life had molded her into nothing if not a fantastic liar. “I don't know if I'd say we were friends. Friendly, I suppose, as much as a customer and whore can be to one another.” The lie felt like a slap to the queen and an uncomfortable ball of guilt rolled around the young woman's stomach, but she managed to get it out. Maya and Jasper nodded, but Niylah simply kept studying her, and Clarke got the feeling she at least wasn't entirely falling for it.  
  
“Are you sure you're alright, Clarke?” she wanted to know, her voice just a little bit softer than usual, and Clarke looked over to meet light brown eyes that always seemed to somehow see through at least a couple of the layers the redhead pulled up. Clarke watched Niylah study her for a moment and realized suddenly that not once since Lexa left had she even thought about knocking on this other woman's door to hide away from her emotions. More than that she hadn't gone back to Niylah since after that argument she'd had with Quint in the palace, never even considering it. Sure, she'd been busy with Jenson and Bennet and then the two men Titus had sent after her, but Clarke had a pretty good idea it hadn't been any of them who had distracted her enough to get rid of the impulse to use this other woman to tune out the rest of the world. It all timed up a little too well with the queen's excursions into the city, and the realization just caused Clarke's heart to skip a beat uncomfortably.  
  
“Yeah, I'm fine,” she ended up saying, her realization striking her in an instant before she pushed it away to truly process later. “She was just a customer, I've got others.” Niylah still didn't look like she believed her and the look she was giving her mixed with the guilt she felt from saying as much about Lexa, it all making her uneasy. Luckily for her at that moment she could see a small group of people heading their way out of the corner of her eye, and she recognized the man in the center. She pushed away every confusing emotion their conversation had sparked up, and flashed them a grin. “And speaking of other customers.” She turned from her friends to smile sweetly as Lord Dante Wallace and his party closed the space between them, falling into an easy curtsy when he was only a few yards away. “Bow,” she muttered quietly, directing her friends behind her to follow her lead, and after a moment all three of them copied her, Niylah and Maya curtsying a little awkwardly in just their robes and Jasper just moving awkwardly as he bowed, dipping down more than was necessary for the lord.  
  
Clarke helped take the focus off of her friends as Dante approached, looking up at the old man even as her body was still dipped down into the formal greeting.  
  
“Lord Wallace, it's very nice to see you again,” she told him, her smile never once wavering. “I was delighted to hear from you again, and am honored you wanted to see me.”  
  
Dante Wallace returned her smile with a broad one of his own, holding his hand out for her as soon as he was near enough. Clarke knew what he was expecting and she gave him her hand, which he brought up to his lips to brush a light kiss along its back. “Nonsense Mistress Blake,” he replied, his tone warm and welcoming, “I'm the one honored to see you again.” He turned then to flash his smile at the three still bent down into curtsies and bows behind the redhead. “These must be some of your friends?”  
  
“They are,” Clarke agreed, and then turned and gestured for the three of them to stand up again. “This is Niylah, Maya and Jasper. They all work here as well.” Maya barely looked at the lord as she was introduced, clearly intimidated by Lord Dante's station, and Jasper fidgeted from one foot to the other, his eyes glancing quickly from the lord to the guards standing just behind him. Only Niylah appeared unfazed, her expression blank as he looked at her. Clarke gestured to Dante, telling them, “This is Lord Dante Wallace of Mount Weather.” They all just stood there for a second until Clarke gave them a look and then Niylah led them into another round of curtsies and bowing.  
  
“It's a pleasure to meet you, milord,” Niylah said, and Maya and Jasper quickly echoed the sentiment. Dante didn't seem at all fazed by the uncomfortable introductions, just continued to smile at them all. “It's a delight to meet each of you,” he replied and Clarke actually thought he might mean it. If he didn't, he hid his true feelings expertly.  
  
They all continued to stand a little awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable, so Clarke decided to hurry this along. Besides, with the lord and his guards standing right outside The Rig, she knew they were affecting business; nobody wanted to approach a whorehouse when a noble or his soldiers stood outside the door. She moved to Dante's side and slipped her hand to his arm, flashing him her dazzling smile. “My lord, if you're ready?”  
  
“Of course,” he said, and then gave her friends another smile. “It was lovely meeting you all.” They all fell into yet another round of curtsies and bows, and this time it was Maya who replied. “It was lovely meeting you as well, milord,” she told him, and Dante nodded as he smiled at her. Clarke looked at them, telling them, “I'll see you all later. Don't get into much trouble while I'm gone.” She ended with a pointed look at Jasper, who suddenly seemed to forget she was holding onto a nobleman's arm and just returned it with an innocent smile.  
  
“When do we ever get into trouble?” he wanted to know and then quickly winced as Maya elbowed him hard in his side. Clarke shook her head at him, trying to keep her lips from twitching, and then turned with Dante to begin back down the street. As they went, the lord let out a light chuckle.  
  
“I get the sense your friend Jasper likes to get into mischief,” he stated, turning his head to look over at her and lift an eyebrow. Clarke looked up for a moment, trying to think of a proper answer, and then replied, “Jasper is very spirited. He's incredibly smart, but doesn't always think before saying or doing something.”  
  
Dante's grin grew a little at that, nodding along with her. “I can think of any number of people just like that. They also often need a little help getting out of trouble.” He looked around them as they walked, reminding Clarke of Lexa every time it was the two of them exploring the streets of the city, but she forced that thought away as the lord continued. “You take care of them?” He looked back to her and she frowned lightly, thinking her answer over.  
  
“They don't exactly need anyone to take care of them,” she answered slowly, “but I suppose you could say we watch out for each other. Jasper just requires a little more attention sometimes.” She shrugged then before looking back over to the lord. “We're a family though, so nobody really minds.”  
  
The lord patted her hand holding his arm. “That's good,” he said, “everyone needs a family. I think your friends are very lucky to have you, and you're just as lucky to have them.”  
  
“Thank you, my lord,” she told him, the little curl of her lips natural and in no way a part of her act. “I appreciate that.”  
  
“I appreciate that you agreed to meet with me today,” he replied, smiling widely once again. “I'm sure there are other things you'd prefer to be doing than spending your afternoon with an old man. You're sure I'm not keeping you from your work or anything else you had planned?”  
  
Clarke nodded to him, squeezing his arm lightly. “I'm sure,” she assured him. “It's my afternoon off, and I'm happy to spend it going back to The Trading Post with you.” She gave him a look then, continuing, “Though I admit, I'm surprised you need to go back so soon. I thought those paints you found the last time would last you awhile.”  
  
Dante nodded, looking around again as he told her, “Oh they are, but I thought I would re-stock before we return home in a couple of weeks. You were right, they are some of the best oils I've ever found, and if we're leaving I'd like to take more with me. I might have to speak to the store's owner and arrange a way for him to send me new supplies every couple of months.”  
  
“I'm sure Hakan would be more than happy to figure something like that out with you,” Clarke told him. She'd met the older man the first time she'd gone into his shop a few years ago and had built a rapport with him over time. She knew he made his own paints and that he was struggling to keep his business up; he would definitely jump at the chance to set up a relationship with one of the wealthiest men in the nation. Dante smiled at her again but then was distracted as one of his guards stepped up to murmur something in his ear, and Clarke pretended not to be there. While she pretended she looked around them, taking in the details of their group.  
  
The lord had brought three guards with him today. One walked in front of Dante and Clarke, his posture loose but alert, and from behind him the dark-haired woman could see him constantly looking around them, ready for any sigh of danger. The other two trailed along behind them, keeping a respectable distance from their lord and his guest but not so far away that they wouldn't be able to close in at a moment's notice. Each of the three men were armed, and Clarke could even see a sword hanging at Dante's waist, though the weapon looked odd there. She knew the lord had been trained to fight like most lords were, but she seriously wondered if he would even be able to draw the sword. Time and age had weakened what she imagined had at one point been strong arms, and his shoulders barely looked wide enough now to support that kind of weight. Still, with the three armed guards there was very little chance he would even need to draw the weapon, and Clarke had to bite the inside of her cheek as she found herself thinking this was the way nobility was meant to move through the city. Everyone gave them a wide berth, the guards probably glaring at anyone who tried to get closer than they deemed necessary, and the redhead knew it would have been even worse if it had been the queen she was walking with. Lexa should have had an armed escort every time she came into the city, should have had the layers of protection required to ensure her safety, and she felt guilty for being glad she never had. Anything could have happened to her, and the danger of it all outweighed how much Clarke truly missed her.  
  
The guard stepped back again as his lord nodded to him, and Clarke forced her thoughts away from the queen and back to her current companion. Dante patted her hand again, giving it a little squeeze before he said, “You've been missed at the queen's parties. Your young noblemen and women seem to have become a bit bored without you there to make them smile. Though I imagine you still see some of them every now and then.”  
  
Clarke nodded, not telling him that his own son was one of the nobles who had hired her for her services since she'd stopped going to the palace. If he knew he wasn't saying anything, and if he didn't she didn't want to be the one to tell him. “A few,” she just said lightly. “I admit, I miss the parties a bit myself. They always had such wonderful food and good company.”  
  
She also didn't tell him the good company she meant was the queen, wishing she could see her in her domain among the nobility almost as much as she wished she could see Lexa walking the streets. There was a beauty and grace to both sides of the brunette, and she would miss them both in a way that left her aching.  
  
Lord Wallace looked over at her and she turned to meet it, finding dark eyes studying her. After a moment he looked forward again and Clarke raised an eyebrow, sure he had something to say. He must have caught the look, the corners of his mouth pulling up, before he told her, “Forgive me Clarke, I didn't mean to stare. I just think it's a very honorable thing you're doing.”  
  
“What's that, my lord?” she wanted to know, and he looked back at her. “Staying away from the palace to make things easier for Lady Griffin and her family,” he said, and immediately Clarke felt a hand squeeze around her heart. She fought to keep her expression clear as he continued, “I can't imagine losing my son in the way she lost her daughter, and I think it's very kind of you not to want to bring any of those thoughts back to the poor woman. It would be nice if everyone were as thoughtful as you.” He shook his head then, his smile disappearing as his lips pursed into a straight line and Clarke frowned.  
  
“What do you mean?” she asked and the lord let out a small sigh, looking up before turning back to her. “I'm afraid there was a little incident at the queen's last party. Lady Griffin has two servants with the surname Blake, and it caused a little upset.”  
  
“It's a common name,” Clarke said, trying to force herself to breathe evenly. Her heartbeat had started picking up the moment he mentioned her mother and only got faster at the mention of Bellamy and Octavia and she had to carefully monitor her expression as well as the grip she held on his arm.  
  
The lord nodded in agreement. “Yes, but I'm afraid a couple of the younger nobles were having a little fun at the young woman's expense. It sounds like they kept touching her arms and inferring certain things, all things I'm sure you would have been able to field with your wonderful finesse, but she didn't understand their jokes.” The corners of his lips twitched then and his brow rose just a little. “She's a fiery young thing, I think those men were all very lucky she had better self-control than they all did. I don't think it would have taken much effort on young Mistress Blake's part to show them the error of their ways. They would have deserved it too from what I heard, though no doubt their parents would have disagreed.”  
  
A burn rose in the back of Clarke's throat, proud to hear that Octavia hadn't changed at all. Or maybe she had; the girl she'd known wouldn't have been able to hold herself back when others were picking on her in any way, and would most certainly have made those nobles regret it. She bit the inside of her cheek harder as she tried to push the burn back down. “What happened then?” she asked, desperately trying to sound as though she didn't truly care if the story continued, though she might not have been quite as successful as she'd hoped.  
  
If Dante noticed her piqued interest, he didn't say anything about it. “They let your name slip,” he just continued, shaking his head again. “I'm afraid that's what pushed the young woman over the edge. She grabbed Philip Hyll by the shoulders and threatened him. I believe her friends would have done the same, but she got to Philip first.”  
  
_Octavia you idiot!_ Clarke cursed silently, her heartbeat now wild in her chest. _You can't just attack a noble!_ Panic began to seep into her mind, her thoughts rapid and wild over what could have possibly happened next, but luckily Dante wasn't finished telling the story.  
  
“Of course, people noticed before anything could happen,” he continued, unaware of Clarke's inner panic at the moment. “It drew a little crowd, but Her Majesty was able to dissolve it before it went any further. Lady Griffin and her daughter were told about what had started it, but they both handled it very well. I was particularly impressed with young Lady Madelaine. Hearing her sister's name didn't seem to faze her in the slightest, nor having all that attention on her.”  
  
At the mention of her sister, the burning in Clarke's throat increased tenfold. Her heart skipped a beat and anxiety burrowed into her gut, and she had to pretend interest in a cart they were passing on her other side so Dante wouldn't see the water she could feel gathering in her eyes. She swallowed a few times, desperately trying to push the reaction down, and only spoke when she knew she could control her voice. “What did... What did Lady Madelaine do?” She knew she shouldn't ask, knew it would be safer to steer the conversation away from her sister, but she couldn't help herself.  
  
“She spoke with the queen, apologizing for her people's behavior and the disruption of the party,” he replied, glancing around him, now only partially paying attention to the story. “It's difficult for anyone to interact with our queen as you know, but she carried herself very well. I think she'll make a wonderful leader in a couple of years when she's old enough to take her place as head of Arkadia.”  
  
“Of course she will,” Clarke heard herself murmur, and then when Dante looked over at her she quickly covered with, “It's a lot like the queen. Her Majesty had to take on her role at a young age, and look at all she's done since. I'm sure Lady Madelaine will be as good for Arkadia as the queen has been for the Kongeda.”  
  
“I'm sure,” Dante agreed, giving her another smile, and then they lapsed into silence. Clarke's mind raced with thoughts of her family and friends and this small look she'd been given into their lives, and desperately wished for more. She wanted to ask the lord more, ask about what Madi and her mother looked like, how Bellamy and Octavia were really doing and if Raven was with them, but she kept her lips locked together. Too many questions could rouse suspicion, she couldn't seem too interested in these people she wasn't supposed to know, so she made herself remain quiet.  
  
Before long they made it to The Trading Post, and Hakan grinned as they stepped through the door, knowing Clarke and remembering her wealthy friend she'd brought in only weeks ago. He led them around the shop, showing Lord Wallace anything he wanted to see and probably a number of things he didn't want to see, but the lord just followed along good-naturedly and asked questions whenever he had them. Clarke played her part with them, smiling sweetly whenever either older man looked at her, and when Dante insisted she even picked out a couple of pieces of charcoal for herself as well as some new sheets of parchment. She thought Hakan nearly passed out when the lord mentioned hoping to set up a way to get some of the same supplies sent to him every month or two, and after the two had finished talking about it the store owner threw in a couple other samples of his paint for free. By the time they were walking out of the store, Clarke was carrying a small sack with the charcoal and parchment Dante had given her, and the lord carried a larger sack filled with sealed pots of paint, brushes, and a number of small canvases. Hakan walked them to the door, bowing repeatedly to Dante as he went, and the lord smiled and shook his hand before they left.  
  
“Well!” the lord exclaimed, beaming as they all stepped back into the street. “Another very successful trip. Thank you again for showing me this place, Clarke, I very much appreciate it.”  
  
“You're welcome, my lord,” she told him, sharing his smile. She held up her bag, saying, “And thank you again for this, you really didn't have to.” He shook his head, telling her, “Nonsense. It's a gift for helping me today.” She nodded and gave him another smile that he returned before he lugged his own bag over his shoulder.  
  
One of his guards moved over to him when he moved, reaching out, and Clarke noticed the double trimming on his shirt that identified him as a captain. “Here my lord, let me take that,” he just said, nodding to the bag. Dante looked like he was about to argue and then let out a sigh as he let the sack swing back around from over his shoulder. “Thank you Emerson,” he said, giving the captain a grateful nod. “I should argue and say I can carry it myself, and if I was a few years younger I would. As I'm not, I appreciate the offer.” He handed the bag over to the younger man and pretended not to be envious of how easily he slung it over his shoulder, as though the contents of the bag weighed nothing at all. When the captain was once again situated, the lord clapped his hands in front of him, grinning as he looked over at Clarke. “Now then. Would you care for a bite to eat, Clarke? I'm a little hungry myself, and I'd be happy to take us both to get something.”  
  
Clarke didn't hear the offer. After the captain's name, all she'd heard was ringing. Her mind had gone blank except to repeat the single name over and over in Dante's voice, the single word echoing through her as though her body were hollow. She couldn't even tell whether her heartbeat had picked up or slowed down, unable to think past the name to take stock of her reaction to it. Her focus had zeroed in on the man she'd been looking for for weeks now, and all she could do was stare.  
  
She couldn't say what she'd been expecting to find when she finally met the man who had sent mercenaries after her and her father, but this man wasn't it. Somehow the faceless person she'd been thinking about all this time was supposed to be more monstrous, or at the very least more threatening. Sure, this man before her now was built like a fighter, clearly had strong arms and legs that would make him a difficult opponent to have if they were ever fighting one-on-one with each other, but she hadn't been expecting the light blue eyes set in a handsome face or the couple of inches of neatly trimmed blonde hair. Blonde stubble covered the lower portion of his face but somehow it made his strong jaw just look stronger. All in all he looked no different from anyone she might meet walking down the street, and somehow the ordinariness of the man made it all just worse.  
  
“Clarke? Clarke?”  
  
Somehow her name broke through the emptiness that had washed through her, and Clarke actually shook her head to pull herself back to the present. She found Dante standing in front of her with one hand on her shoulder, looking at her worriedly. Far more surprising was the fact that her hand was now in her pocket, and the sting she felt from the grip of her knife biting into her palm told her she must have been grasping it for a little while now. The three guards all glanced at her and away again, and when she looked over she caught Emerson's eyes. The man watched her for a moment and then looked away again, not seeming to recognize her as anything more than the whore she pretended to be. Clearly he didn't know who she was.  
  
“Clarke, are you alright?” Dante was asking, and she forced herself to look away from the captain and back to the lord. His brow was knit in concern, his hand on her shoulder holding her tight and she might have been surprised by his grip if she'd been able to really notice it. “What happened? You're suddenly pale.”  
  
Now that he said something, she did feel a little lightheaded. Looking down at herself she found the hand still holding her bag shaking, and she realized she had begun to sweat more than she should be even with how warm a day it was. Taking a few short, quick breaths, she forced a small smile at the lord.  
  
“I'm so sorry my lord,” she said, her mind working furiously for a lie, “I'm suddenly not feeling very well. Would you mind if we cut our afternoon together short? I know it's rude, but...” Even as she trailed off he was shaking his head, clearly still worried as he looked her over.  
  
“Of course Clarke, of course,” he told her, finally pulling his hand away. The skin where it had been resting tingled, almost burning. “You shouldn't be out if you aren't feeling well. We can walk you back to your home.”  
  
“That isn't necessary, my lord,” Clarke insisted, already beginning to inch away from him and his guards. She forced herself not to look back at Emerson, desperately trying not to look anymore suspicious than she was sure she already did. She forced her smile to get even bigger, telling Dante, “The Rig isn't far, and I can walk. I just need to lie down for a little while. Please, don't trouble yourself.” He was looking at her curiously, clearly unsure if he should just let her go, but then he seemed to give in. “Alright,” he just said, worry still knitting his brow together, “if you're sure. Get some rest, and I hope you feel better. I hope to see you again soon.”  
  
“I hope to see you again soon too, my lord,” she replied, silently thinking how she would make sure of it. At the very least she would see his captain again very, very soon. “Thank you again, Lord Dante.” He nodded and she fell into a quick curtsy, and the moment she was upright again she turned and quickly left.  
  
She waited until she was out of sight to begin running. She raced down the streets, not caring at all about the attention she was drawing to herself, and pushed and dodged her way through the crowds. Somewhere along the way she dropped the bag of charcoal and parchment Dante had bought for her, but she didn't even realize it. Her feet pounded against the packed dirt and her arms swung beside her, but not even her labored breathing could break through the cycle of thoughts swirling through her mind.  
  
_I found him. Emerson. I found him. I know who he is. I found Emerson._  
  
Clarke didn't go back to The Rig; instead she went in the opposite direction, racing towards The Exodus, an inn she hadn't been to in months. Despite the amount of time since her last trip there she had no problem finding the hidden entrance in the alley at the back of the building. She let herself in and took the stairs there two at a time, eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting of the barely kept passageway. Silently she counted the floors until she was on the third, and then quickly made her way down the unlit hallway to a door, the only obvious sign of its existence coming from the little stream of light that showed along its bottom. Without bothering to knock or otherwise make her presence known, she threw the door open, the force of the throw enough to make it bang against the wall as it swung back. It opened into a small privy, and on the other side of the room's main door she heard movement. Again without pausing Clarke ran over to the second door and threw it open as well, finding Wells in the process of grabbing for his sword. A book lay haphazardly on his bed and the sheets were clearly wrinkled, telling her he had been relaxing when she so rudely interrupted. Her friend had been glaring at the door before it opened but when he recognized her his hand grabbed the sword and began to lift it, trying to look past her.  
  
“My lady, what-” he began to say, stepping forward to grab her and pull her out of the way, clearly worried she had been chased there or something of that nature, but she grabbed his arms, fingers tangling in his tunic.  
  
“I found him,” she managed to get out, only now realizing she was panting. She must look half-crazy, her hair and dress probably wild from running, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. “I did it, Wells. I found him. I found Emerson.”  
  
Wells's eyes widened as he dropped his sword on the bed so he could grab her arms, and the words tumbled out of her mouth again as though she couldn't stop them.  
  
“I found him.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

The noise of the house couldn't break through Clarke's thoughts, the groaning and slap of skin coming from the floors below entirely muted to her. If any of her friends could see her in this moment, they would know to give her her space; the determination in hard blue eyes and the tight set of her jaw would dissuade anyone from approaching her. She'd spent the last couple of hours sitting silently in her room, just waiting for the sun to set and night to spill around them, and finally the time had come. Quickly she pulled on a pair of breeches and a dark tunic, covering herself then with an even darker cloak. With any luck it would help her fade into the background, nothing more than a ghost walking among people. Rather than the usual soft slippers, tonight she pulled a sturdy pair of boots from the back of her closet, their soles worn enough they wouldn't make much noise when she walked but still strong enough to carry her easily. Before she stepped away from the closet she knelt down, looking straight at the loose board all of her secrets were hidden beneath and pulled it up. She lifted the usual box out of the space beneath the floor, but rather than focus on it, tonight she just put it to the side and then reached back into the space. She had to pry a second board free, this one harder to move than the first since she hardly ever removed it, but once she did there was enough space for her to pull what she really wanted from its bed beneath the floorboards. Old linen was wrapped around the scabbard to keep it clean and Clarke pulled it away, revealing the worn but good quality leather. The handle of the sword poked out of the scabbard and her eyes were drawn to it, memories flashing through her mind of the many times she'd seen this same sword strapped to her father's side. Carefully she wrapped one hand around the hilt and pulled a little, tugging the sword loose from its leather home. A couple of inches of shiny steel winked at her, and Clarke felt something hot and heavy fill her chest. She knew the sword was in great condition because she'd made sure to keep it that way, only taking it out over the past few years to clean and sharpen it. Tonight she would finally use it again: tonight the two of them would finally get revenge for her father.  
  
Clarke carefully guided the sword back into its sheathe and then placed the box back into its hiding spot and put the boards back in place. With any luck she wouldn't be coming back to this room again once she left it, but that didn't mean she needed to start being sloppy now. She stood up and then pushed her cloak back so she could secure the sword to the belt on her waist, every nerve in her body settling into place the moment its weight pulled on her hip. She could feel a strange kind of energy charging around her but chose to ignore it, knowing there was only one thing she could afford to think about at the moment. Once the sword was settled in place she pulled her cloak back over it, its fabric long enough to cover all but its very tip. For a second she let herself fiddle with the pendant around her neck, gripping it tightly in her fist to help ground herself, and then she took a long deep breath. The next thing she knew she was carefully tucking the necklace into her shirt, feeling the cool stone settle into place between her breasts, and then she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. It wasn't the perfect cover but it would just have to do, and once she was in the streets she should easily be able to slip away unnoticed. She moved over to her door and listened against it, trying to hear if there was anyone around, and when she decided the coast was clear she was off.  
  
She was lucky: Clarke didn't see any of her friends as she made her way through the hall and down the stairs. She ran into a few of the workers but she pulled the hood closer so she wouldn't be recognized, and everyone who passed her was too busy leading a guest to give the hooded figure more than a curious glance. On the first floor she strolled quickly forward, refusing to look to either side until she made it to the front room. From the corner of her eye she saw Derrick shift when he saw her, already starting to reach for his sword when this strange hooded person came walking in, and she pulled back the side of her hood to look over at him and their mistress. The man's eyes widened in surprise and he dropped his hand, but Clarke barely even looked at him. Instead she focused on Luna, meeting her eyes, and for a long second the two women just stared at each other. The older woman's eyes scanned over her face and Clarke just stood still, not trying to hide anything. When their eyes met again Luna just nodded, her expression as set as Clarke's was.  
  
“Good luck,” she murmured and Clarke nodded, and then she pulled her hood back into place and made her way out the door. She stopped just outside, closing her eyes and letting her head tilt back as the sounds of the house behind her mixed into the sounds of the city around her. Her friends were all inside working, and she had to bite her lip as their faces all flashed through her mind. They would never forgive her for not saying goodbye.  
  
There were two ways the night would end: either she would get her revenge, or she would die. Death was the only thing that could keep her from finishing what had started that fateful night seven years ago, and really she wasn't entirely convinced even that would be able to stop her. If she somehow did manage to survive, a lord would be dead and she would flee. Somehow she would convince Wells to go back home, to return to his real life, but she would disappear all over again. She wasn't Clarke Griffin anymore, no more than she was Clarke Blake, so she would leave and find herself a new life. She would leave titles and nobility and whoring all behind her until she was a blank slate and then she would become someone else. She would start over where nobody knew any of her names, and maybe someday the guilt from leaving her friends behind would ease.  
  
“Goodbye,” she whispered into the night, eyes opening to stare up at the many stars above her. For a second she let herself pretend somehow the stars would whisk the words away to the people she was leaving, but then she was shaking her head. If she was going to be successful tonight she needed to stop being foolish, needed to steal herself and forget about the people she was abandoning, at least for now. Assuming she survived, there would be enough time to let her guilt hit her later.  
  
Without so much as a single look back, Clarke made sure her cloak was still in place and then quickly fell into the crowd, letting its tide take her down the street. Nobody bothered her, the dark cloth helping her to blend into the night as well as she'd hoped, and she kept her head down as she walked. After about a mile she pulled away from the crowd, moving over to an alley between two taverns. There she found Wells waiting for her, dressed just like she was, his own sword strapped to his waist. The two made eye contact, sharing a long look, and then he nodded. She returned it with one of her own and they kept moving down the alley and into another street, neither saying so much as a word. They'd planned it all out that afternoon after Clarke had suddenly showed up in Wells's room, and now there was nothing else to say. They both knew exactly what needed to happen next, and both were equally determined to make sure it would.  
  
They walked through crowded streets for another mile and a half, people pushing and jostling them but then quickly moving away whenever they saw either of the hooded-figures' faces. No one wanted to mess with the large muscular man with the harsh glare, just as no one wanted to mess with his redheaded friend. Though smaller and clearly not as intimidating, somehow the woman was almost the scarier of the two. There was something in her dark eyes that managed to stop the heart cold, an icy chill racing up the spines of the few people who happened to meet them. They quickly stepped away from the two figures, putting as much space as possible between them and found themselves praying to the gods to keep the strangers away from them and their loved ones.  
  
Finally Clarke and Wells stopped in front of an inn in a nicer part of the city. Here there were no homeless people sleeping against buildings or begging in the streets, no run-down walls or dilapidated roofs. Everything here was cleaner, a little quieter, and that quiet settled inside Clarke's chest, filling her up. With any luck it would remain quiet until the morning when a lord's head was found detached from his body with the captain of his guard in the same condition. At that point hell would break loose, but she didn't plan to be around anymore to see it. Wells looked over to her and she gestured for him to follow her before slipping into yet another dark alley. At the side of the inn a set of cellar doors protruded from the ground and she went to one, yanking hard at its handle. It took a little tugging from both of them but then finally the door opened and the two slipped inside without anyone noticing.  
  
Clarke led the way now, Wells just a step behind her as she wound through the secret passageways of the inn. Luckily for them both she'd been here only weeks ago when Cage had hired her, so the path to his room was one she easily remembered. The hallway was dark, lit only by the few sparse torches hanging on the walls so that servants and secret guests could make their way from one room to another, but it was almost like Clarke didn't need to see to know where she was going. In that moment she would have sworn something was leading her, guiding her to where she needed to be, and she followed the feeling without question. Their boots barely made a sound as they walked through the hidden walls of the inn, as though they were nothing more than shadows hidden in the dark. They made it through without running into anyone else, and then finally Clarke stopped outside of what Wells thought was just a wall until she reached forward and he saw the little handle signifying a door. She pressed her ear against the wall, searching for any sign someone might be just on the other side of it, and then slowly and carefully opened it, making sure not to make a single sound. Silently they crept through the doorway and then Clarke closed it behind them, still soundless.  
  
Like with most inns, the door opened into a privy, though luckily this one was wealthy enough one could barely tell. Scented oils were used to hide the scent of human waste, so at least they wouldn't have to wait for their opportunity smelling nothing but shit and piss. The room itself was dark, no torches or candles currently keeping it lit, and Clarke had to blink a few times as her eyes tried to adjust to the abrupt black. On the other side of the small room a strip of orange light glowed beneath the door to the main room, and the two of them crept over to it, moving as soundlessly as they could. After lightly pushing a finger against the door to see if it was securely closed, Clarke leaned against it, pressing her ear to the wood.  
  
“...don't know what's taking so long,” she heard a distinct voice say inside the room, and Clarke's fingers curled into fists as renewed fury blossomed in her gut and spread to her chest. She could hear footsteps inside the room and assumed Cage Wallace must be pacing. “They should be here by now.”  
  
“I'm sure they will be here any minute, my lord,” another voice said, and Clarke's eyes widened, thinking about how the gods must be smiling on her to serve up both of her targets in one room. She'd only heard Emerson speak once but knew she'd remember his voice for the rest of her life, and her palm itched to draw her sword then and there, crash through the door, and take her revenge. It was a foolish desire and one she quickly tampered down; even with the element of surprise, there was no guarantee she and Wells would be able to take both Cage and Emerson by themselves. She could fight with a sword but she was in no way a great swordswoman, and she couldn't expect Wells to pick up any of her slack. It would be far better to stick with their plan and wait until Cage had gone to sleep and ambush him alone, and then later do the same to the captain, but even knowing that couldn't entirely keep her hands from shaking. She took a silent breath to control herself and then went back to listening.  
  
“Tell me again, Emerson,” she heard Cage demand. Even from here Clarke could hear the cool arrogance dripping in his tone and she clenched her jaw. Emerson might have been with Dante when she found him, but she knew before she'd even reached Wells it had to have been his son that sent people after her and her father. Dante Wallace was smart, kind, and from everything Clarke had witnessed, a good man. Cage Wallace seemed to be everything his father wasn't. She could see the young lord grasping for power in his attempts to win over the queen and easily believed he might have attempted the same years earlier and killed a fellow noble to get it. She still didn't know why, didn't have every answer yet, but by the end of the night she absolutely would.  
  
“I got word this afternoon that Landen and his men will be in the city by the end of the day tomorrow,” Emerson answered his lord, and Clarke frowned, wondering who Landen was. Another question she could ask when she had her sword to Cage's neck, she supposed. Emerson continued, “I wrote back that they should all lay low until they get their orders. I'll relay the message again in person when they're here tomorrow.”  
  
“Good,” Cage told him, but then he must have been moving further away from the privy because all she heard next was a muffled, “That's some good news, at least. Tell him...”  
  
Waiting became a frustrating task, and one Clarke nearly failed at more than once. For another few minutes she listened as the lord and his man spoke back and forth, barely understanding anything they said, and every other word all she wanted to do was rush in and end this whole thing. Wells's weight beside her helped keep her from doing just that, the two standing close enough their hips and arms were touching, as did the knowledge of what would happen if Cage and Emerson managed to get the upper hand. She had come too far now to let it all end with her death, so she grasped onto her patience with tooth and nail, despising every second that went by where the two men in the next room were still breathing.  
  
Suddenly a knock on another door sounded out and Clarke redoubled her concentration, straining her ears to listen harder as footsteps went over to that door. It must have opened because she then heard more footsteps come into the room, followed by Cage saying crisply, “Well, it's good of you to show up.”  
  
“Looks like we're the first ones here,” a voice replied, and Clarke frowned, knowing it but for a second not being able to place it. She wracked her brain, trying to identify it until a second new voice said, “As long as Her Majesty isn't here, I'd say we aren't late.” The second voice helped her place the first and Clarke's confusion doubled, completely lost as to what was going on.  
  
_What are Finn's brothers doing here?_ she wondered, placing the voices of Myers and Illen Collins of the Glowing Forest. Following right on the first thought's trail, she continued, _Why would Lexa be coming?_  
  
None of those in the room seemed inclined to answer her silent questions. Cage was the next one to speak up, saying, “Just sit down. The others should be here any minute.” Clarke could imagine him waving to them offhandedly and wondered where they would sit. When she'd been here a couple of weeks ago the lord's room had a desk with a chair, but other than that all that was in the room was the usual bed, hearth and large closet. She heard what had to be a couple of chairs shift against the floor though, and figured Cage must have made a few accommodations for his expected guests.  
  
The three nobles began talking idly, probably just trying to fill up the space until whoever else was supposed to join them arrived. They talked mostly about the tournament coming up in a couple of days, and Clarke rolled her eyes. Suddenly she was glad she hadn't been back to the palace lately, knowing this was exactly the same conversation she would have had to listen to countless times over if she had been. She shifted her weight a little, her feet tired from just standing in the one spot for so long, and then refocused on their conversation. Wells was like a rock beside her, still and immovable, exuding the patience she had to fight to hold onto. She began to silently recount every detail of how she'd ended up there to make sure she knew every question she would ask Cage later, tuning in and out of the noblemen's conversation as they continued to argue over who would win what during the tournament.  
  
Another knock at the door cut off Illen and Cage arguing over who would win the jousting competitions, their room going silent. Clarke once again heard footsteps go over to the door and then a moment later it was opening. “My lady,” she heard Emerson say, and then someone else was entering the room.  
  
“Glad to see I'm not the last one here,” the newcomer said, and Clarke's eyes widened as she recognized Lady Sydney's voice. “I was afraid I might be.”  
  
“No, we're still waiting on the others,” one of the brothers said – Illen, she was pretty sure. “We were just discussing the tournament while we waited.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Diana told him, sarcasm coloring her tone. She brought voice to Clarke's thoughts, saying, “Why is the tournament all anyone can talk about? I'll be glad when it's over so we can all move on to more important things.”  
  
It sounded like Myers was about to argue when there was yet another knock in the room, and Clarke nearly banged her forehead on the door in front of her out of frustration. The more people who arrived, the longer it would be until they all left again and Cage would be alone. It also made it more likely someone would need to use the privy, and if that happened she and Wells would have to silently race back to the hidden hallway before whoever it was opened the door. If they were caught in there, especially with all of these witnesses, they would never get their revenge. Clarke just closed her eyes and made herself breathe evenly, deciding to just see how the night turned out. If they needed to they would hide again and wait for as long as it took. A few more hours was nothing really in the scheme of seven years.  
  
Again the door was answered, and this time when the newest voice spoke up Clarke felt Wells stiffen beside her as her own eyes flew open in shock.  
  
“Sorry,” Thelonius Jaha – a man she knew nearly as well as her own father – said as he walked into the room. “I meant to get away sooner, but Marcus wanted to talk more about trading shipments and the fall harvest.”  
  
Somebody let out what sounded like a scoff, and then she heard Myers ask, “Is that all he wanted to talk about? He didn't want anymore advice on how to woo your Lady Griffin?”  
  
“Not that he should be going to you for advice,” Illen stated, a joke Clarke didn't understand coloring his tone. “You wouldn't know how to woo her, now would you Jaha?”  
  
“That's enough, Collins,” Thelonius told him, his voice sounding tired, and Clarke glanced over at Wells. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough to see basic features, and she could tell his brow was furrowed as he listened intently to the conversation on the other side of the door. “Let it go already,” Thelonius added and then there was noise of a chair skidding against wood, and they knew he must have sat down.  
  
“And why should we?” Myers wanted to know as another knock sounded in the room, apparently knowing the minor lord well enough he didn't feel he needed to stop. Clarke could hear the movement of the door again even as the man continued, “We've all done our parts, tell us again why you've failed to do yours?”  
  
“I did my part,” they heard Thelonius growl, and Clarke wondered if she'd ever heard him make that specific sound before. “And I'll remind you how much it cost me.”  
  
“Are you arguin' about this again already?” a new voice asked, footsteps echoing beneath the words as whoever it was must have made their way into the room. Clarke was sure she'd never heard this one before, though the voice was undoubtedly male, and the lilt made him stand out from everyone else in the room.  
  
Nobody seemed inclined to answer his question. “Oh boohoo,” Illen just said, obviously speaking to Thelonius. “As if we don't-”  
  
Another knock on the door cut him off and they all went silent again and Clarke could have screamed. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, but for some reason she felt the air around them charging, energy beginning to buzz through her gut. She couldn't tell if it was just impatience or something more, but either way she didn't care for it. All she wanted was for everyone to leave so she could finally be alone with the one noble she actually wanted to deal with, but instead more people kept piling into the room. If she didn't start getting answers soon she was sure she'd go crazy, and it wasn't an appealing thought.  
  
For a fifth time someone approached the door – Emerson if Clarke had to guess – but this time when it opened she heard more movement in the room as chairs scraped against the floor. She heard the door shut and then the almost silent brushing of fabric against itself and she was trying to figure out what was happening when Cage suddenly said, “Welcome, Your Majesty.” All at once Clarke was more lost than ever, and had the sudden desire to throw open the door and demand Lexa tell her what was going on. Her palm was pressing a little harder on the wood when she heard a new voice, and her heart plummeted into her stomach.  
  
“You may all rise,” the new voice stated and then there was that whisper of fabric again and Clarke realized they'd all been bowing. “Ontari, a chair,” the new voice continued and there were footsteps again until something was placed on the floor and the newcomer must have sat in the chair brought to her. There were a few light scrapings as the others sat as well, and then Clarke heard Lexa's aunt say, “Now then, it's almost time. I expect everyone has done what they needed to to help me secure my throne.”  
  
There was a silence as everyone probably nodded, but inside the dark privy Clarke only just managed to stifle a gasp.  
  
She'd set out that night to find a murderer, but somehow she'd stumbled onto a coup.  
  
_Lexa_...

***

Unaware of their audience listening in the privy, Duchess Nia Glace looked around the room, making sure to meet the eyes of everyone there. These were her people and she would remind them of it, holding herself up regally as they all looked to her. Slowly, painstakingly, she'd brought them all to her, and now they were going to help her get what was rightfully hers.  
  
It had taken a lifetime to get to this point, but she was finally ready to claim her throne.  
  
“Wallace, tell me about Landen and his men,” she ordered, shifting her eyes onto the Mount Weather heir. He sat back in his chair, one arm leaning against its arm as he gave her a charming smile, and she felt disdain for him flood through her chest. She would much rather have his father here, but for now the boy would just have to do.  
  
“We've had word from him that they should be in the city sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Cage informed her, and then he nodded to his man standing behind him. “Emerson will be going to meet him when he gets here, and he'll be taking half of their pay. They'll get the other half when you're comfortably on your throne. We'll be telling them to lay low until we need them, but have them ready to go whenever you want them on the day of the tournament. Your insurance policy will be in place, should you need it.”  
  
“Good,” Nia said, giving an approving nod. “Instruct them to dress like peasants. I want them to be able to disappear into the crowd of other commoners that will be there to watch the games. Have them conceal their weapons until I tell them to draw them, and they are not to attack anyone unless given a direct order from either me or Ontari. I don't need to begin my reign cleaning up their mess if they go and kill everyone who could be my ally.”  
  
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Cage agreed, bowing lightly from his seat. “Emerson will relay your message. Anyone who acts without your instruction will be gutted and flayed and then hung up for everyone to see.”  
  
Nia nodded again; that should do nicely to get her point across. She turned then to Myers and Illen, the brothers sitting together on the end of Wallace's bed. “How is it going speaking with the other nobles?”  
  
“We've made some connections,” Myers told her, meeting her icy stare. “Lord Damos and his son seem particularly unhappy with the queen-” Behind Nia Ontari stepped forward, her hand already on her sword's hilt and she drew it just enough for a few inches of steel to show. The Glowing Forest heir noticed and quickly corrected himself, giving a quick bow to the duchess. “-unhappy with Alexandria after that stunt last week with the Griffins. They shouldn't be difficult to persuade to your side once Alexandria is dead, and they have good pull with their liege lord, so we think we can count them as on your side.”  
  
That was good, the Masons and the rest of the Boudalan Mountains would be excellent friends to have backing her when she laid her claim. If they needed an extra little push she could simply remind them how long it took her niece to show any interest in choosing a husband, and that it was clear she was snubbing Ryder. She knew she could use that argument for a number of the houses, and felt the very corners of her mouth twitch at the thought. Little did Alexandria know she'd already helped the duchess in her rise to power. She would thank her if she wasn't already going to be dead by the time Nia would need to use the argument.  
  
“What else?” she wanted to know, looking between the brothers, and Illen continued where his brother had left off. “It looks like Thames will also be easy to convince to back you. That'll give you Shallow Valley, Boudalan, Glowing Forest, Mount Weather, and of course the Ice Nation. That's nearly half of the houses. Nyko will push back with the power of the Blue Cliffs, and obviously Trikru will back Aden, but we can't be sure of anything else. We believe it's most likely that Costa and the Plains will back the prince as well.” He looked over to where Jaha and Sydney were sitting, his eyebrows rising in what was supposed to look like mild interest. “Of course, you should have Arkadia on your side as well, but that isn't the sure thing we wanted it to be, now is it Lord Jaha?”  
  
“You'll have Arkadia,” the older man insisted, a quiet anger rumbling in his voice. He shot a glare over at the brothers sitting on the bed and then turned to Nia, the glare quickly disappearing as he bowed from his chair. “Abby listens to me, when I suggest to her we back you, she'll do it.”  
  
“I'm not so sure,” Diana Sydney stated beside him, barely even looking at the other Arkadian. “Whatever else Abby is, she's loyal, just like her late husband. It may take more than just a few words from either of us to convince her.” She met Nia's eyes and gave just a little nod. “You will of course have the support of my house as well as Thelonius's, but I'm not sure we'll be able to rally the rest of Arkadia behind you.”  
  
Despite herself, Nia had decided she liked Diana. There was a hunger in her eyes that the duchess knew all too well, a desire for more than the measly power she'd been given in life, and Nia respected that. As long as she never tried to rise above what the new queen was willing to give her, she felt like Sydney could remain a good ally. Jaha was an entirely different story, and Nia looked down her nose at him as he began talking again.  
  
“Abby is a stubborn woman, there's certainly no question there, but I believe I can convince her to see reason. There is no reason for a young boy to be on the throne when a grown woman can rule instead.” He bowed again to Nia to show his respect, and the duchess simply lifted her head a little higher. “She's worked hard to protect Madi from all the responsibilities that were piled on her with Jake and Clarke's deaths, she'll want the prince to be able to have a childhood as well.”  
  
“I'm not sure why we should be expected to believe you, Jaha,” Cage stated in his chair on the other side of the room. He looked at the older man with badly hidden contempt. “You've already failed Her Majesty once. Or am I wrong in thinking it's Marcus Kane who has been courting the lady of Arkadia and not you?”  
  
Jaha hesitated, and then gave a partial nod. “I waited too long,” he admitted, gripping the arms of his chair a little tighter. “I thought it would be better to let Abby grieve for her husband and didn't realize she and Marcus had grown close in their grief together. I had no way of knowing that would happen; before Jake's death she and Marcus barely got along, but somehow now that's changed. That's on me, but I am sure I can still convince Abby. We're good friends, she'll listen to me.”  
  
“Being friends is very different from being her husband,” Illen reminded him from the bed, forcing Jaha to turn slightly in his chair to meet the younger man's eyes. “I believe the plan was that you would marry Lady Abigail once her husband was out of the way. With their oldest daughter gone too you had the opportunity to mold little Madelaine into whatever you wanted. It wouldn't matter what Abigail wanted if you at least had Madelaine on your side. Despite how her mother acts, she is the lady of Arkadia as Lord Jakob's only living child. If you hadn't failed Her Majesty would have all of six of the great houses on her side, instead of just...” He wiggled his hand with the palm facing do, making a face as he did so. “...five of the great houses and eh, maybe a piece of the sixth.”  
  
Jaha sat stiffly in his chair as Nia looked back at him, his jaw clenched tightly shut. She noticed he now held a hard grip on the arms of his chair, probably trying to hold his anger and embarrassment in. The duchess couldn't care less about his embarrassment, fully aware as everyone else in the room was that he'd failed her already. She didn't accept failure, and would make sure he knew that once she had her throne. For now though she kept her expression only mildly interested, listening as the man bit out, “You weren't even a part of this until three years ago, Collins. Don't tell me I failed when I'm the person in the room who has paid the highest price so far for this rebellion. I'll remind you that I've already done my part.”  
  
Across from him Cage scoffed, leaning back in his chair. He crossed one leg over the other, cupping his palms over one knee and lifted an eyebrow as he gave Jaha a look. “I think you mean I've done _my_ part,” he reminded the older man. “All you did was write a letter. I'm the one who sent the men after Lord Jakob so that _you_ could take his place, and you didn't. So tell us again, what have you done?”  
  
All at once Jaha jumped out of his chair, anguish spreading like water across his face. “I lost my _son_!” he yelled, and the force of his rise caused his chair to tip over behind him, toppling to the ground. Ontari drew her sword instantly behind the duchess and stepped between her and the enraged man, and across from her Cage's guard had done the same thing for his lord. Jaha didn't seem to realize the danger he was in, too lost in his own grief. “My son, my only son, I _lost_ him! _Your_ men killed him! I betrayed my best friend and paid for it with my son's life, now tell me I haven't done enough already!”  
  
“If you'd managed to woo Abigail, you could have other sons by now,” Myers pointed out behind him, apparently unfazed by the man's outburst. He shrugged, not looking away from the man's despair and clearly not affected by it. “You told Wallace when Lord Jakob and her daughter would be leaving their home and where they would be going; you knew what was going to happen. It's your own fault your son died as well.”  
  
“It wasn't supposed to happen,” Jaha muttered, closing his eyes. “Jake and Clarke, they were the only ones who were supposed to die. No one else was supposed to get hurt.”  
  
“And leave any possible witnesses?” Cage asked, both eyebrows raising. “That would have been sloppy. Besides, it was better for us all if their deaths looked like an accident. Murder would have called more attention to it, and that attention would have made it more difficult for you to get close to Abigail.” It was his turn to shrug then, not even an ounce of remorse anywhere in his features. “We're all sorry you had to lose your son, but it is what it is. It's certainly not my fault that you weren't able to get over your own grief in time to continue with the plan before someone else swooped in on Abigail and Arkadia.” Jaha looked over at the younger man as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but Nia had heard enough. She held up her hand, and as one everyone in the room turned to look at her.  
  
“Enough of this,” she stated, looking around at them all. Stopping at Jaha, she let her eyes narrow just a hair. “Thelonius, sit down.” He bowed and did as she ordered, but she could see his hands shaking as he stood his chair back up and sank into it. The duchess ignored it, not caring in the slightest that he was still clearly upset. “All of this is in the past, and there's nothing we can do about it now. Yes, it would be better if we knew we had Arkadia on our side,” she shot a look at the man, who wasn't able to meet her eye, “but we don't. Arguing about it all now doesn't make any difference. Arkadia is a small house anyway, with Sydney and Jaha's men we have almost half of their forces. If Abigail does choose to side with my nephew, she'll only have half of her fighters with her.” She looked over to her guard still standing between herself and Jaha. “Ontari, report.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” the knight replied automatically, and then gave Jaha one last warning look before sheathing her weapon. She stood up straight, hands automatically linking behind her back as she informed the room, “Thanks to Tristan,” she nodded to the man in the room who had yet to say anything, the Guard standing against the far wall rather than sit with the nobles, “we've snuck a number of our people into the palace already. With all the new servants that have been hired for the tournament, no one knows they're there. They are blending in with their new role, and have already been given instruction of when to strike. Within three days, Alexandria will undoubtedly be dead, and the Kongeda will be looking for its new leader.” She looked around the room, sending a warning glare to everyone there. “When that happens, you all will step up and share your concerns about having another child on the throne. If you fail to do this, I will find you and you will instantly regret it. You will demand Her Majesty take the prince's place until he is of an age to rule.”  
  
Once she had her throne, Nia would never give it away. If she had to she would get rid of her nephew just like she planned to get rid of her niece, but she would have a few years still to make Aden's death look like an accident. She had time to plan, she just needed to successfully take her throne first and then she could worry about how to keep it.  
  
Tristan met the duchess's eyes and bowed slightly from his shoulders. “I have already began convincing some of my fellow Guardsmen that Aden isn't a fit heir. When you step up to take your place, Your Majesty, you will have the Guard backing you also.” She nodded to him, hiding a smirk away: turning him to her side years ago had been one of the greatest advantages they'd had since. She had a spy right beneath her niece's nose, and Alexandria had absolutely no idea.  
  
The lords and lady in the room were quiet for a moment as the Guard talked, letting the knight's words sink in, and then Myers cleared his throat. Everyone turned to look at him and he lowered his head to the duchess. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he began, and Nia tilted her head back, “but how can you be so sure Alexandria will die by the time the tournament's over? This whole plan hinges on her death, and it can't look like you had anything to do with it. How can you know your plan will work?”  
  
“Idiot,” Ontari muttered contemptuously but Nia just held up her hand and the knight quickly moved over to her side at the silent order. The duchess didn't look away from the young noble, her expression entirely even as he bowed yet again, clearly intimidated. Good.  
  
“You can be sure, Lord Myers, that I have thought this day through in its entirety,” she informed him, her hands settling into place on the arms of her chair. “I have multiple plans in place, and contingency plans in case none of those plans pan out.” She felt herself smile slightly, one corner of her mouth lifting up. “Tournaments are hectic things, with any number of new faces. Imagine what would happen if a cook slipped something into my niece's food? Or perhaps while her dear friend Anya is busy dealing with one person who got a little too close to the queen, another steps in behind her and stabs poor Alexandria in the gut? Crowds are busy places, and even the Palace Guard wouldn't be able to protect my niece if there was suddenly a mob of any kind. Imagine what that would be like for our queen, to get knocked down and then trampled by the people who love her so much.” She paused then, looking around the room, and her smile grew just a little at the shock she could see in some of the eyes staring at her. She had been waiting so long for this, she refused to let anything stand in the way now that she was so close, and taking Alexandria's life was one of the easier tasks she had yet to accomplish. “I have plans in place, and learned years ago about my niece's secrets from a source very close to her. A dear friend of hers told me about everything I need to know to bring her down.” Her smirk grew just a hair as her memories flicked back to the poor servant girl who just hadn't been able to keep Alexandria's secrets to herself as Ontari had carved them out of her. She held her head up a few centimeters higher, looking around the room again. “I can assure you, my lords and lady, by the end of the tournament my niece will be with her parents again, and this nation will need a strong leader to hold it together. It will need me, and _you_ will get it for me.”  
  
They all nodded quickly and bowed, and Nia sat back in her chair so regally it might have been the throne. She had been waiting for this day for a lifetime, and nothing would stand in her way now. The gods had played a cruel trick on her, making her the second born child, but she'd always known she was meant to be queen. Her brother had been daft, a fool if ever one had been born, and she had had to fume silently as they grew up, watching him get all the power that should have been hers. Alexander should never have been king, it was as simple as that: he was too soft, ruled too easily by his heart to make any great decisions. The one good idea he'd ever had was to fully unite the Kongeda again, and it was an idea he'd stolen from her. When he died she should have been able to finally take her place where she belonged, but that arrogant adviser Titus had beaten her to it, crowning her eleven-year-old niece and letting a child rule in her place. The fury of that loss still roared in her chest even today, but this time no one would stand in her way. When Alexandria died, she wouldn't let another child steal her crown, even if that meant finding a way to kill Aden as well. In only a few days she would have what she had spent an entire lifetime working for, and nobody would be able to take it away from her once it was hers.  
  
Nia's lips pursed together, her icy eyes lighting up with a renewed energy.  
  
Soon; soon it would all belong to her. Soon. 

***

Clarke stood frozen in the dark privy, her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard, any of it, and felt her stomach roll. Quickly she swallowed to fight down the sickness that threatened to come up, knowing she would never be able to keep that quiet, and remained where she was as the conversation in the other room continued. Nia and her conspirators continued talking, going over a few more details of their plan, but Clarke's head swam in disbelief.  
  
Lexa's aunt was plotting to kill her. Clarke had known the duchess didn't get along with her niece, but never would she have thought she'd take it this far. They were talking murder and treason, and she couldn't believe how many people Nia had managed to get on her side. Hearing them talk, Clarke knew they were likely to have almost half of the Kongeda with them, and obviously Mount Weather's wealth had bought them mercenaries to back them up in case their own numbers weren't enough. From what she could tell the duchess had thought of everything, and Clarke's entire body went cold as she thought of just how far Nia had been willing to go in order to get what she wanted. She had at least one spy on the Guard, any number of others spread throughout the palace, and had even managed to learn Lexa's secrets from some trusted source. A fresh wave of bile rose in her throat and Clarke had to swallow again to push it down, having a feeling she knew exactly who that person was. The duchess had been planning this for years and didn't seem to care who got hurt along the way.  
  
_My father_... she thought and closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. Her father had been killed to further the duchess's plot, and what was worse was that he had been betrayed by his best friend. Thelonius and Jake had grown up together, and as far as Clarke knew up until his betrayal Thelonius had loved her father as though they were brothers. She was here standing next to the man's son, her own best friend who had stood by her through all of this, never wavering in his loyalty to her, and Jaha had been the one to betray them. Cage and Emerson had sent Bennet and Jenson but they never would have known when to do it if it wasn't for a man who Jake had loved and trusted. The betrayal stung deep and hard, feeling very much like a knife to the gut, and Clarke was just glad her father had never known. She glanced over at Wells beside her, wondering what he could possibly be thinking, and found a statue beside her. He wasn't moving, barely even looked to be breathing, and her heart wrenched for her friend.  
  
The conspirators stayed for only a few more minutes, wrapping up the details of their plan. To no one's surprise Nia was the first to leave and Clarke once again heard the soft brush of fabric as they all bowed to her. Rage filled her chest and her hands curled into tight fists, her fury pooling into her gut and spreading to the rest of her. How dare these people bow to the duchess! How dare they even think this demon of a woman could come anywhere close to being as great a queen as Lexa! Hate burned hotly in her chest and Clarke had the sudden urge to break down the door and make them all pay for this betrayal, her common sense the only thing stopping her from doing so. No matter how angry she was or how wrong what they were doing was, she knew she and Wells would have no chance of taking them all on just themselves. As far as she knew Emerson and Ontari were still in there, which would pit them against a captain and a knight. She remembered then that Jaha was also a knight, that he and her father had won their knighthood together, and a fresh wave of bile coated the back of her throat. The others were likely to know some kind of sword work as well which would leave her and Wells seriously outnumbered, so she held her rage in, letting it warm her but not letting it rule her. She listened silently as the duchess and her knight left, and before long the others quickly followed suit. Soon Cage and Emerson were the only ones left, and then even Emerson was bidding his lord a goodnight and the door shut for a final time.  
  
_This is it_ , Clarke thought, her rage suddenly dissipating as realization struck her, _This is our chance_. Her sword suddenly felt heavy on her hip as though it had instantaneously doubled in weight, and her mouth and throat went dry. Without really thinking about it her hand fell to the hilt, closing lightly around the grip, but she couldn't make herself pull it loose.  
  
_What if they get away with it?_ she heard herself wonder, _What if Nia's plan works?_ The duchess didn't really need Cage anymore; the mercenaries were on their way, and it was entirely likely Nia already had a plan to turn his father to her side, or one of Mount Weather's lesser lords if anything were to happen to Cage. His death wouldn't stop the coup, probably wouldn't even pause it, and all at once Clarke's heart began thumping hard against her chest as her mind raced.  
  
As Cage walked around his room, likely getting himself ready for bed, Clarke fought an internal battle. This was the moment she'd been waiting for, this was the accumulation of secrets and plots she'd been searching out for seven years now. She had walked away from her friends, from her family so that someday she would be here, in this moment, and now she couldn't move. She had chosen to become a whore so that she could find this man, find the person who was responsible for her father's murder as well as the murder of dozens of others, and now that the time had finally arrived she couldn't make herself draw her weapon.  
  
If she killed Cage and disappeared, what would happen to Lexa? Could she live with herself if she heard about the queen's death and had done nothing to prevent it?  
  
_I could warn her_ , she thought, _after I kill Cage. I could go to the palace and tell her everything, tell her what I overheard. That could work_.  
  
It could, but it might not. She thought maybe Lexa would believe her, but would anyone else? Titus already didn't trust her, and he was the queen's head adviser; would he try to convince Lexa she was lying? Even if he didn't, even if Lexa believed her and no one questioned her, she still couldn't be sure none of the conspirators would get away. This Tristan person was clearly a member of the Guard, and as far as she knew Nia could have snuck in dozens of other spies over the past few weeks. If any one of them heard what she had to say, they could warn the duchess and the others before Lexa could call on her Guards to arrest them, and Clarke wasn't even entirely sure the Guard itself could be trusted. What if Tristan was right, and he'd already convinced more of them to join Nia's side? What if they heard Clarke as she told Lexa what she'd learned, and they turned on them right then and there? Then they might both be dead, and Nia could still get what she wanted. There were too many what ifs and possible scenarios for Clarke to even begin going over them all, and as she tried to a single thought kept forming.  
  
_I need more time_.  
  
The footsteps in the room finally stopped, and Clarke heard the unmistakeable sound of the mattress shifting as Cage got into bed. Her jaw clenched and her nails bit into her palms, not entirely believing what she was about to do. Her revenge was in front of her for the taking and with the man in bed it would be all too easy to take. She would finally be able to avenge her father's death, finally be able to stare at the man who had changed her life as his blood seeped into the mattress. Everything she had worked for was right in front of her, and she wasn't going to take it.  
  
Apparently death wasn't the only thing that could come between Clarke and her revenge tonight. As much as her entire body screamed for her to go in there and kill Cage, to finally get what she'd been working for all this time, something stopped her. Lexa's face flashed through her mind and her heart beat hard once, keeping her from taking those last few steps towards her revenge. She stood frozen for a few long minutes, a war raging inside her, and then finally she reached out, lightly grabbing Wells's arm. She felt her friend flinch and then look over at her, and Clarke just held her finger up to her lips. He nodded and began to draw his weapon but her hand fell over his and she shook her head. Silently she gestured behind them and then turned around and he followed her back into the hidden hallway, moving away from Cage. Angry tears fell down her cheeks as they went but she swiped them away with the sleeve of her cloak.  
  
On the first floor they ran into one of the inn's servants, a young woman who jumped when she saw them and would have screamed if Clarke hadn't rushed forward and clapped her hand over the girl's mouth.  
  
“Shh,” she just murmured, her voice so low the girl wouldn't have been able to hear it if the redhead's lips hadn't been right by her ear. “We're not going to hurt you. We're leaving, and you never saw us. Got it?” She lifted an eyebrow and Wells took a step closer to them, a hulking threat just behind her, and the girl nodded vigorously beneath Clarke's hand. “Good,” she said, and then she slipped her other hand into a pocket and pulled out a silver coin. She pressed it into the girl's shaking hand, trying to give her a reassuring smile to help calm her. “Take this. If anyone asks, one of the nobles staying here was drunk and tipped you when you helped him back to his room. You could even add he made a grab for your bottom after you managed to avoid, to make the story more believable.” Clarke could have sworn she felt the woman's lips twitch beneath her palm, just barely smiling, and the woman nodded again. She returned the nod with her own and then pulled away from the girl, easily stepping around her without another word. Behind her Wells nodded to the girl and then followed.  
  
Together they stepped up out of the cellar, and Clarke closed her eyes as the sounds of the night once again circled around them. Mentally she berated herself, cursing herself for growing so close to someone that she would choose them over her revenge, but even as she cursed she knew she couldn't have done anything differently. It was one thing to walk away from Lexa just with the knowledge she'd never see her again: it was an entirely different thing walking away while knowing she was in danger. Somehow she would find a way to save the queen and reveal Nia and her coup, and with any luck she'd still be able to get her revenge while doing it. She had no idea how she would manage to do all this in only a few days, but she knew she had no choice.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard movement behind her, and Clarke turned around to find Wells kneeling on the ground, his head down and his sword held out to her. She frowned, unsure what was happening, and asked, “Wells, what-”  
  
“I will never be able to make up for what my father did, my lady,” he said, and her eyes widened when she heard the pain in his voice. He looked up and she could see a few tears streaming down his face. “What he did, betraying Lord Jake, betraying you...” Wells shook his head, and another tear fell down his cheek. “It's unforgivable. I swear to you he will pay for it. I swear.”  
  
“Wells,” she murmured, and then she was kneeling, and before he could do anything she'd knocked the sword out of his hands and wrapped her arms around his shoulder. She squeezed, holding him close, and her heart wrenched when she finally felt him return the hug, burying his face into the crook of her shoulder. “Shh,” she whispered, trying to soothe him as her heart broke all over for her best friend. She might have just learned that her father was betrayed by someone he loved, but Wells had learned that his father was a traitor. She held him tighter. “You're not your father, Wells. You're nothing like him. You're so much stronger than he is.” He let out a quiet noise that might have been a sob and Clarke felt her own tears spill over. “We will make him pay for it, we'll make all of them pay for what they did, but you had nothing to do with it, Wells.” He held her tightly for another moment and then she felt him nod before he pulled back just a little bit. Their eyes met in the moonlight, and Clarke could easily read the guilt that now filled her best friend. She gripped his shoulders again, her expression setting. “You're not your father Wells, and I'm not mine. You would never betray me, I know that, and I refuse to die before this is all over. Cage and Thelonius will pay for what they did to us, and Nia will pay for what she wants to do to the queen.”  
  
He nodded, the guilt in his eyes dimming just a little, a hard resolution taking its place. He stood and then helped her up, and then bent down to get his sword from the dirt. He wiped it clean on his cloak and then re-sheathed it, not looking away from her as he did so. “What do we do now?” he wanted to know, and Clarke closed her eyes.  
  
Her mind whirled, but it kept coming back to a singular thought and finally she let out a sigh. Opening her eyes, she tilted her head up and looked up at the stars, resigning herself for what they had to do next.  
  
“We get help,” she stated, and in her periphery she saw him nod before also turning to stare up at the sky. The stars hung above them, uncountable in their vastness, as two dead nobles prepared themselves to finish a war that had begun the night an inn had burned down around them. The stars had been just as silent on that night as they were now, and Clarke closed her eyes again as she tried to pull that silence inside her.  
  
It was time to come back from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this about a lot of my chapters, but this might be one of my favorite ones so far. Now you all finally know what I've known all along, and from here things are going to start picking up pretty soon! If anyone has any questions or comments or just wants to scream, please feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda!


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Micah McAllister pushed his bouncing black curls away from his eyes so he could glance nervously around him. He really hoped he was going in the right direction: just like when he took off exploring a few days ago, the palace had too many hallways, too many twist and turns for a young man to get lost in, and he was afraid it might have happened again. At least this time he didn't have to be back by a certain room at a certain time, but if Lord Thames ever found out he was here he'd likely get more than a little whipping. He'd had to get his friend Kellen to lie to the lord for him, tell him that Micah wasn't feeling well this morning and if the lord of the Shallow Valley ever found out they'd both be in a lot of trouble.  
  
Damn himself for being such a lousy gambler and damn that merchant for giving him this task to forgive the debt he owed him. He'd almost rather pay than be lost in the palace again, except that he didn't have nearly enough of what he owed to actually pay it off. This deal would make them square, but it also made him itch with nerves. Once he was done with this, Micah swore to himself he'd give up cards for good.  
  
Of course, he'd said that before.  
  
For the fourth time Micah reached into his pocket, grabbing tightly at the letter he was meant to deliver just to make sure it was still there as he looked around. He thought he was on the second floor of the palace but he had no idea exactly where, all the halls looking exactly the same to him with their tapestries and suits of armor spaced out along the walls.  
  
“Can I help you?” a voice asked behind him and Micah jumped, spinning around to find a man standing behind him. The man was older, gray streaks beginning to run through dark brown hair, and he wore the uniform of the Palace Guard. He looked Micah over with hard gray eyes, obviously suspicious of a person who didn't seem to belong in the palace, and the manservant gulped.  
  
“I'm looking for someone,” he told the Guard, scratching at his chest nervously. “Man named Bellamy Blake? Got a message for him.”  
  
Recognition of the name sparked in the Guard's eyes and Micah felt relief flood through him. The older man nodded, telling him, “Blake's likely in the bailey training with Lady Monroe. Usually is this time of morning, at least.” When Micah gave him a blank stare, having no idea how to get to the bailey, the man shook his head. He looked up to see a cluster of servants leaving a room to go to another, fresh linens in their arms and he pointed to one of them. “You,” he said, and the girl's eyes widened in surprise. The Guard nodded to Micah, telling her, “Take this man to the bailey. He's got a message to deliver.”  
  
The girl quickly nodded and handed off her linens to one of her friends before hurrying over to them. Before Micah could walk away to follow her however the Guard grabbed his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. Micah looked up into hard eyes again, swallowing thickly at the stare the man was giving him. “Once your message is delivered, you'd best be off,” he warned, gripping his shoulder just a little tighter. “We've got enough strangers to keep our eyes on these days.” The manservant nodded quickly, very much heeding the subtle warning, and the older man released his shoulder.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Micah got out and amusement flashed across the man's face as he nodded.  
  
The servant girl led Micah back in the same direction he'd come from and then down a flight of stairs and the young man followed silently, eyes flicking from side to side as they walked down new hallways and passed new rooms. As nervous as he was he'd have loved to explore more once his message was delivered, but he had a feeling the Guardsmen would have a way of knowing if he didn't leave like he'd said he would, and if they met again Micah greatly doubted he'd be so understanding.  
  
After a few long minutes the girl led him through a door and Micah had to shield his eyes, sunlight suddenly streaking down on them. Ahead of him was a great open space and he could hear the clashing of metal and many grunts of people doing physical labor, and when he blinked so his eyes would adjust he found a couple dozen people moving over packed-down earth. Many of them were following the shouted orders of a scary looking woman at the center of the field, half of them raising their swords and striking at their opponents as one whenever she told them to. Their opponents would raise their own swords on the same order, all blocking the attack in the same motion. They all seemed to move automatically and as one, and if Micah wasn't so intimidated he might think it looked beautiful. Two others worked on their own, not bothering to listen to the scary woman's orders, and they stepped and pivoted and struck at each other in their own rhythm. The pair was a man and a woman and the man's features matched the basic description Micah had been given of the person he was looking for, so he didn't bother searching any further. He jogged out onto the field, his fingers running nervously against his palms as he went; he really hated interrupting fighters, he never knew how they would react but he didn't dare stay in the palace any longer than he absolutely had to.  
  
“'Scuse me,” he called when he was only a couple of yards away from the pair. The woman who had clearly been about to attack her companion withdrew from the attack, stepping back and letting her sword now hang easily at her side. The man turned to look at Micah, sweat running down the sides of his face and he swiped his arm across his forehead where strands of his dark hair had stuck to his skin. Micah glanced at the man, very aware of his intimidating build, but made himself ask, “Are you Bellamy Blake?”  
  
The man's brow rose a bit but he nodded. “I am,” he said and then he looked Micah over. “Who're you?”  
  
“Micah McAllister, sir,” he answered, deciding it would be best to be as polite as possible. He reached quickly into his pocket and pulled out the note Wells had given him and held it out between them. “I've a message for you. From a friend, I'm 'sposed ta say.”  
  
Now Bellamy's brow furrowed, confusion taking over. He hesitated before grabbing the folded paper from the man, but didn't yet open it, just glanced down at it and then back at the stranger in front of him. “Who's the friend?” he wanted to know, sure it couldn't be Octavia or Raven and not knowing anyone else who might have sent him a letter. If Abby or Madi needed him they'd send someone after him, not write a letter, and there was no one else he could think of around here who would reach out to him.  
  
“He just told me to give you the letter, sir, and that I shouldn't read it,” the younger man informed him as he scratched at the back of his neck. “I owed him a good amount a money, said it would all be paid off if I delivered this message to you.” He grinned sheepishly then, looking from Bellamy to the lady still standing behind him, admitting, “I haven't had much luck with the cards lately. I'm not a bad player back in the Valley, but Master Wells always seems to have the luck on his side.”  
  
Immediately Bellamy froze, the paper in his hands suddenly weighing far more than it should. “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice having gone noticeably quieter, but the messenger didn't seem to think anything of it.  
  
“Just that I haven't been lucky of late,” Micah continued, too busy glancing around the courtyard to notice the way the bigger man had gone stiff. “I win a hand every now and then, sure, but never more 'an Wells. I'd call him a cheat 'cept I've watched him real careful a few times and never been able to catch him doing anything but playing. He's just got the luck with him, that's all it is.”  
  
The second time he said that name, a roaring filled Bellamy's ears, cutting off the rest of the man's speech. Without another second wasted he scrambled at the letter, unfolding it until he could read the short message scrawled along its surface. 

_Meet me in front of the Exodus Inn as soon as you can. I'll be waiting._  
_W._

“Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?” Bellamy whispered, anger suddenly igniting in his belly. He looked up from the letter to glare at the boy in front of him, and Micah took an unconscious step back at the fury now directed at him. Bellamy's voice rose, his nostrils flaring a bit as he followed him, the letter crumpling slightly as his fingers gripped it tightly. “Is this a fucking joke?”  
  
It had to be. It had to be a prank being pulled on him, probably by Philip Hyll or any of his friends. Bellamy had been waiting for some kind of retribution for what Octavia had done at the queen's party, and he was sure this was it. Probably they thought he'd fall for this, maybe bring his sister and maybe even Raven with him and then the lords would jump them, or they would have hired people to jump them. One thing he knew for sure, it couldn't be what it seemed so he took another step towards the messenger, the younger man shrinking away from him.  
  
“If it is, I don't know the punchline,” Micah informed him, holding up his hands in front of him. All at once he wished he hadn't taken Wells up on his deal, sure that being in debt to the merchant would be better than angering a man still holding a sword. Lord Thames would _really_ be unhappy if he got himself killed because of his gambling problem. Bellamy took another step towards him and Micah's heart leapt into his throat, unable to look away from dark eyes that burned with fury.  
  
A hand reached out, grabbing Bellamy by the elbow and stopping him from advancing any further.  
  
“Easy there big guy,” Monroe told him, tugging against his arm. “No need to murder a man just for doing his job.” The knight looked over to Micah, giving him a nod and then gestured back towards the palace. “You've delivered your message. You can tell your friend that your debt has been paid off. Now scram.”  
  
Micah didn't even care that he didn't know how to find the entrance to the palace from here, he just turned and fled. He decided he would keep his distance from Wells for now; if he'd known his message would provoke this kind of reaction, he would have steered clear of the merchant long before now. After this, he wasn't sure he wanted anything else to do with the man. Clearly there was something going on here he wanted no part of.  
  
The man quickly did as he'd been told and Bellamy watched him disappear back into the palace nearly at a run. His fingers still clutched the letter, and despite his best attempts at not letting any of it get to him he could feel his heart now racing in his chest. It had to all be a trick, had to be a trap, but a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered questions he was afraid to actually focus on.  
  
_What if it isn't a trick? What if he's really alive? What if I really did see him?_  
  
“You looked like you were about ready to gut the poor boy,” Monroe joked beside him, now releasing his arm to pat his shoulder. Bellamy could see her raise an eyebrow from the corner of his eye. “That must be one hell of a letter.”  
  
“It has to be a trick,” he muttered, eyes falling back to the piece of paper in his hand. The scrawling ink still held the same message and he stared at the sharp W. It couldn't really be him. “It can't be real.”  
  
“And why's that?” Monroe wanted to know and all Bellamy could do was shake his head, apparently unable to get anymore words out. She waited for a few seconds but when he didn't answer she just shrugged before tapping the letter with a single finger. She could read the message from the way the paper was angled, and looked from it to him. “Seems to me there's one way to find out if it's real or not.”  
  
Bellamy stared at the message in his hand, barely breathing as questions swirled wildly through his mind that he couldn't seem to manage to get a grasp on. She was right, there was one way to find out if this was all a trick or not, but he was a little afraid to do it. He didn't really care that it might be a trap, didn't care that someone could be waiting to jump him if he followed what the letter told him to do. No, he was just afraid that it was a joke, and that the little spark of hope igniting in his chest would be doused yet again.  
  
Wells had died along with Clarke and Jake seven years ago and he hated himself for daring to believe otherwise for even another second, but Monroe was right.  
  
There was only one way to know for sure. 

***

Heart hammering in his chest, Bellamy made his way through the streets of the city, his throat completely dry. At any second he expected to be jumped, expected people to turn on him and attack. His hand hovered over the handle of his sword, ready at a moment's notice to draw it, but he just kept walking forwards. He would deserve it when the attack finally came, would deserve every blow he got for letting himself think for even just a second that this might be real. The letter he'd received only a couple of hours ago sat heavily in his pocket, practically burning through his breeches to brand his skin. It was all he'd been able to think about since the moment the messenger had delivered it to him until he'd finally lost his sanity completely and slipped out of the palace.  
  
At least he hadn't told anyone about the letter or its contents. He'd considered telling Octavia and Raven briefly but had quickly dismissed the idea. There was no use getting their hopes up, and in the event this was a trap he refused to let his foolishness get his sister and friend hurt. Telling Abby or Madi had never been an option: he refused to hurt them like that. That was how he found himself walking through the city streets alone, mentally berating himself for falling so willingly into this trap even as he was unable to force himself to turn around and give this whole foolish idea up. Like it or not, he had to know what waited for him at the Exodus Inn.  
  
He'd needed to ask directions for it, but finally he found himself looking up at a large building, the inn rising three stories high and wide enough that it must house at least a dozen rooms per floor. The sign hanging over the front door was of good quality but obviously old, its wood worn and marked with the passage of time. A few shuttered windows were open along its front and Bellamy could hear a few people talking and moving around inside, but nobody stood outside as though they were waiting for him. He stopped at the corner of the building and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly cautious as he glanced around in front of him. People walked by him but didn't even bother looking over at him, and after a minute he began to wonder if this was the point of the joke, just to make him look foolish for even showing up.  
  
“Bellamy,” he suddenly heard behind him and he froze, his eyes going wide. For a second his heart stopped, recognizing the voice but barely believing it, and then finally he forced himself to turn around.  
  
Wells stood behind him – a much older, harder Wells. The boy he remembered was gone, the passive and open expression he remembered his friend usually wore replaced with hard lines around his eyes and a set jaw. His shoulders were broader now and Bellamy thought he looked thinner despite his muscular build, but even with all the differences one thing was perfectly clear: the friend he'd believed was dead now stood in front of him, very much alive.  
  
“Wells?” he let out in a breath, barely able to believe what he was seeing. His fingers balled up into fists so his nails could bite into his palms, certain he had to be dreaming. The little sparks of pain did nothing to change what he saw before him and all at once he felt confusion and bone-drilling relief fill his chest. He shook his head, still unable to really believe it, but the friend who was supposed to be dead just nodded, his own expression not shifting.  
  
“Come on,” Wells just said, moving to step around him, but Bellamy's hand darted out, grabbing his arm. His palm tingled as it closed around the other man's forearm, the solidity of it just helping to reaffirm that he wasn't seeing things, that this was actually happening.  
  
“What-” he began and then he was just shaking his head, barely able to get his confused thoughts to form into words. “How... How is this possible? How are you here, alive? What, where have you been?”  
  
The man with his friend's face shook his head, tugging lightly out of Bellamy's hold. “Not here,” he just said, not looking away from the other man's face. He gestured to the building beside them, telling him, “You'll get your questions answered once we're inside.” Bellamy wasn't sure where he should even really begin with his questions so he just nodded, deciding he could take the few seconds to try to get a grip on his thoughts. This time when Wells stepped forward Bellamy followed along behind him immediately, afraid that if he let the other man out of his sight for even a second he would disappear again.  
  
Wells led them into the inn and through the common room, not looking at the inn's owner or any of the few people relaxing at its tables. He made his way down a short hallway, Bellamy just behind him, and then began climbing a set of stairs, leading them up to the third floor. Neither of them talked while they moved though Wells could feel his friend's eyes on him and he had to push down his own relief to finally be talking with him again. Too much rode on this, he had a job to do, but a very large part of him wanted to reach out to make sure Bellamy was real just as much as he knew the other man wanted to do with him. He held it back and pushed down the burning in his throat, forcing himself to focus on his job over everything else.  
  
They stopped in front of a door almost all the way at the end of the hallway and Wells reached out, grabbing the door handle and turning it. He led the way into the room and Bellamy followed behind, and for the third time that day he froze again, not fully able to believe what he saw. Wells clearly wasn't surprised and just closed the door and locked it behind them before quickly making his way across the room to stand by its sole other occupant.  
  
“I don't...” Bellamy began, but the words died in his throat, not even sure what it was he was going to say. He suddenly couldn't quite manage to breathe and his lungs burned almost as hotly as his eyes as water quickly formed at the back of them. Lady Clarke Griffin, one of his best friends and yet another person he'd believed dead, stared back at him and he couldn't even begin to process what was going on.  
  
Like Wells, this was clearly Clarke but she had noticeably changed from what Bellamy remembered. Most striking was her hair, what had once been a a beautiful blonde almost as bright as the sun now a dark deep burgundy red, but it was far from the only thing different about her. Just like Wells Bellamy thought she was now thinner, in no way appearing malnourished but also not looking as healthy as she had when they were growing up together. Where once she'd lived life smiling now he saw a guard in her expression, a stiffness in her posture he couldn't remember. The dress she wore was nothing like what she used to wear, its quality lower than any of her old gowns and he was suddenly reminded of how often she would argue with Abby just over wearing them. She preferred tunics and breeches he remembered, liked the freedom they gave her over the stiff and cumbersome dresses, but here she stood in a dress that almost seemed to be too tight for her. He flushed a little at its low cut but his eyes drew to the pendant lying against her chest and his throat burned hotter as he remembered the day Lord Jake had given it to her. It had been her twelfth birthday and Clarke's eyes had gone wide the moment she saw it, making the lord laugh. She'd worn it every day after, had never taken it off, and now he found it still hanging around her neck. If he hadn't been able to believe it could possibly be her that necklace proved him wrong, and Bellamy felt his head begin to shake slowly.  
  
“Clarke...” he murmured, and he watched as the friend he'd thought he'd lost slowly smiled at him, the motion small but enough to drive whatever breath he'd managed to catch away again.  
  
“It's really me, Bellamy,” she told him softly, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek the second he heard her voice. “I'm here. I'm alive.”  
  
Slowly, not even aware he was moving, Bellamy made his way across the room, his eyes never leaving Clarke's face. He studied it intently, focusing on all the details he'd forgotten as well as the ones he'd remembered, and then suddenly he found himself standing directly in front of her, not even a full arm's length away. She didn't move, didn't even budge, and just watched him make his way over, and then his hand was rising and she was still meeting his eyes. Bellamy held his breath as he reached out, desperately afraid she wasn't actually there and maybe he'd gone crazy, but then just the very tips of his fingers brushed against her soft cheek and a little sob erupted from his chest. Without any warning he sprung forward, arms wrapping tightly around her and another small sob escaped when he felt her returning the hold. Tears were suddenly streaming down his face and he had no idea when they'd started, but nothing in the world could make them stop in that moment as he pressed his face against her neck, breathing in her scent.  
  
For her part, Clarke's eyes clenched shut as Bellamy held on to her and cried, and she felt a few tears of her own slip from the corners of her eyes. She held him just as tightly as he held her, her heart squeezing in her chest. She'd fully believed she would never be able to see him again let alone hold him, and now that the boy she'd grown up with was in the same room as her all she could do was hold on and wonder how she would ever make herself let go again.  
  
After a few minutes she was able to make herself loosen her grip on him as he began to pull away, going only far enough so he could stare at her again, blood-shot eyes scanning her face. She scanned his right back, taking in features she'd remembered but not nearly in enough detail. His jaw was squarer than she'd remembered and she'd practically forgotten about the dimple at its center. Brown eyes studied her and she could read everything in them, confusion and disbelief warring with utter and total delight. She had to look up to meet them and realized he now stood almost half a head taller than her where once he'd had no more than an inch or two on her in height. Her gaze trailed up to find floppy dark hair hanging almost down to his eyes, and she felt her smile grow just a little.  
  
“Your hair's gotten longer,” she murmured, one hand reaching out to sweep it back away from his eyes. He let out a little chuckle and then lightly tugged on a lock of her own hair, raising an eyebrow as he stated, “As hair goes, I think yours has changed more.” He frowned suddenly then, his brow furrowing, and Clarke met his eyes again as he asked in a small voice, “Clarke, what happened? How are you... Everyone thinks... After the fire we all searched the woods for any signs of survivors, but when we didn't find anything we figured...”  
  
Clarke let out a long sigh as she made herself step back, not particularly surprised when his grip on her tightened momentarily before he seemed to realize what he was doing and let his arms drop away. She gestured to the end of the bed they stood beside and waited until he'd sat to join him, one leg hanging off the end of the mattress while the other bent towards the man she'd known so well when they were children. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wells grab a chair from the side of the room and carry it over, setting it by the edge of the bed before taking a seat in it. Their eyes met briefly and Wells nodded to her and she let out another sigh before turning back to Bellamy. He was still watching her, studying her as though he might somehow be able to find the answers if he stared long enough and she prepared herself for the long story.  
  
“The fire wasn't an accident, Bellamy,” she began, deciding it would be better to get right into it. “I know everyone thinks it was, but they're wrong. It was set purposefully by a couple of mercenaries who were hired to kill me and my father.”  
  
“What?” Bellamy gasped, his eyes going wide and she caught his hands curling into fists in his lap. She took one of them, hoping it might help as her story unfolded, but didn't stop telling it.  
  
“We got to the inn around sunset,” she informed him, “Father didn't want to try riding in the dark and the inn was there, so we stopped for the night. We got the horses all settled in the stable and our bags to our rooms and then everyone had dinner in the common room with the inn's other guests. It wasn't very long after that I got tired and decided to go to bed. I should have noticed that something was wrong with how quickly it came on, but we'd been traveling so I figured it was just because of that.” She ground her teeth, wondering just how different her life might be now if she had realized something was wrong then in that moment. “It wasn't; the kitchen's food had been drugged and it knocked everyone out. The next thing I knew I was waking up tied to a chair with my father tied up beside me.”  
  
Beside her Bellamy's jaw clenched and she could feel his fist tightening so she held his hand a little tighter. She had a feeling this would be the first of many times she would have to tell this story, and for some reason she was glad he would be the first to hear it. Wells remained silent beside her, her quiet partner in all they had done, and she used his strength to help her continue.  
  
“Two mercenaries had been hired to kill us,” she told Bellamy and fury flashed clearly across his face. “I didn't know then who it was or why, but the two men told us they were just doing a job. My father tried to talk them around, tried to convince them not to hurt us, but it didn't work.” A small lump formed in her throat but she swallowed past it, not letting it stop her from telling her story. “They killed him,” she continued, her voice dropping a little. “They stabbed him and then cut off his head. Said their master wanted proof the lord was dead.”  
  
“I'll kill them,” Bellamy growled, his teeth still clenched together and Clarke gave him a smile that didn't make it anywhere near her eyes. “Too late,” she told him, “Wells and I already took care of that a few weeks ago.” Wells nodded even as Bellamy's eyes widened, looking back and forth between them, shocked.  
  
“You two?” he whispered. “You killed them?” It was Clarke's turn to nod and he blinked a few times, barely able to believe what he'd heard. “But how?” he wanted to know, “How did you even get away?”  
  
“I made one of them angry,” Clarke answered, her expression unreadable and Bellamy felt himself frowning again. The Clarke he had known didn't hide her feelings, not entirely well at least. This woman in front of him didn't just look different from the girl he'd known, she acted different too, and he had a feeling this wouldn't be the only time he thought that. He didn't say anything though, just listened as she continued her story. “I bit him hard, so to make me pay for it he decided it would be best if I was burned alive. Said people were going to think it anyway, it might as well be true.” She gestured over to Wells. “They left and a few minutes later Wells found me still tied up. He hadn't eaten as much as everyone else so the drugs didn't affect him like the rest. By that time though they'd already set the inn on fire. We only made it out by climbing out of a window.” She paused again to swallow, a familiar guilt worming its way to her chest as she murmured, “We couldn't save anyone else. It was too late.”  
  
“But why didn't you come back?” Bellamy asked, looking over to Wells and then back again to Clarke. “You've been alive all this time, why not come back to Arkadia? We could have gone after them, could have found them. Your mother... Gods Clarke, do you have any idea what she went through? Or Madi? Why did you leave us?”  
  
“I had to Bellamy,” Clarke told him, pulling her hand away. She stood up because she couldn't keep still anymore, taking a few steps away from the bed and then turning back towards it to look at Bellamy. More guilt swam in her gut, building up and spreading through her and she knew nothing she could try would ever be able to push it away. This was what she was never supposed to have to go through, she had never planned on explaining herself to the people she'd left behind, but the duchess hadn't given her any choice. “Bennet and Jenson, the mercenaries, they were hired by someone to kill me and my father, and they only succeeded in getting rid of one of us. I was still alive, a witness! I knew what they looked like, what they'd said and what they'd been told to do.” She threw up her hands, more angry at herself and the situation than she was at him but unable to keep it all in anymore. “They killed an entire building full of people just to make sure nobody knew what they'd done, even though almost no one else had actually seen their faces. I couldn't go back to Arkadia when someone had just done all that to try to kill me. I would just have been even more of a target, and if they hadn't had any problem with killing dozens of innocent people, what was going to keep them from taking out others? I couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt because of me.”  
  
“But we could have _helped_ you Clarke!” Bellamy replied, his voice rising a little. “We could have tracked these people down together, could have got justice for you and Jake!”  
  
“It's not that simple, Bellamy,” she insisted, shaking her head. “These two men had appeared out of nowhere and were working for someone powerful. It was better for them to think I was dead and that they'd succeeded than to know I wasn't. I wouldn't have been able to live with it if anymore of the people I loved had died because of me.”  
  
“No one else would have,” he insisted, brow furrowing as he clenched his jaw. As relieved as he was that she was alive, he couldn't quite forgive her for what she'd put them all through. “You should have come home, then we could have found these people together and everyone would have been safe.”  
  
“You don't know that, Bellamy,” Wells cut in, his voice quiet, and they both looked over at him. He stared straight ahead at the other man, meeting his eyes and not looking away. “You have no idea what these people are like, or what they are capable of. Maybe you're right and everything would have been fine if we'd gone back to Arkadia, but maybe it wouldn't have. We've recently learned that all of this goes so much further than we thought, and it's just as likely that Clarke at least would be dead by now if we'd gone back, and maybe other people too. Clarke made a choice, one that was harder than any you'll ever have to make, and then I chose to follow her. Right or wrong, it's the way it happened, and there's nothing we can do to change it now.”  
  
Clarke stared at Wells, her own eyes almost as wide as Bellamy's. Hearing Wells talk, no one would ever know he'd tried to get her to go back at first too, that at one point he'd made arguments that had been very similar to Bellamy's. Now he just continued to meet the other man's surprised stare, not backing down in the slightest and it made a burst of warmth flood through her chest, momentarily overpowering her guilt.  
  
For a long moment Bellamy couldn't look away from Wells, just stared right back at him, and then finally he managed to return his focus to Clarke. He could see the lines etched into the skin around her eyes as she frowned, noticed the way blue eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world inside them, and he felt his anger instantly melt away. They were both right, he couldn't even begin to imagine what either of them had gone through, and finally he let out a sigh.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly, looking back and forth between them, “You're right. It all happened and there's nothing anyone can do about it. I just...” He trailed off and shook his head, eyes closing briefly before opening again to meet Clarke's. “I just missed you both.” He glanced back at Wells. “For seven years I thought you were dead, but now here you are, and you're telling me that Lord Jake was murdered, that you were both almost murdered too...” Bellamy rubbed at his face with both hands, wishing he could just scrub the confusion and pain and everything else away. “I'm sorry. It's just a lot to process.”  
  
Clarke's expression softened a little. “I know it is,” she murmured, moving back over to the bed. She sat again, one hand going to his shoulder. “Believe me, I know it is.” He gave her his familiar lop-sided grin and she felt her throat burn painfully, unaware until that moment how much she'd missed it, but she pushed the feeling down. Bellamy then let out a sigh, an eyebrow rising as he looked back and forth between them.  
  
“Alright, so you said that you got the guys who did it?” he asked. “And that it's all apparently bigger than you thought? How?”  
  
She and Wells exchanged a look and Bellamy frowned. “Wells has been tracking Jenson and Bennet ever since that night,” Clarke continued their story, turning back to Bellamy. “For about a year I was with him, but people weren't as open to talking when I was there so he kept traveling alone and I settled down here in Polis and became someone else. It became Wells's job to search for the mercenaries while I tried to find out who their master was.”  
  
“How?” Bellamy wanted to know. “I thought you said the mercenaries didn't tell you much about who hired them?”  
  
“I knew it had to be a noble,” she answered with a one-shouldered shrug, stealing herself before she gave him a real answer to his question. She had no doubt he wouldn't like hearing the truth, but there was no way to hide it if she was going to get his help. “It was the only thing that made sense, so I came to Polis where so many nobles would often travel. I moved here and got a job where people – nobles – would hire me and whisper their secrets to me without even thinking about it. I became Clarke Blake and pretended that Clarke Griffin had died in a fire like everyone believed.”  
  
“Blake?” he whispered, and then the next second something new flashed across his face, his brow knitting together. “Wait a minute, Clarke Blake? As in Mistress Blake, the person Philip and everyone have been talking about?” She just nodded and he had to take a moment to process that, his mind barely able to put together what she was saying. With the way everyone had talked about the mysterious Mistress Blake and the way Philip and his group had acted around Octavia, it didn't take a genius to figure out exactly why they had all enjoyed the unknown woman so much, but now that Bellamy was staring at Clarke and having to piece the two Clarkes together his brain moved sluggishly, a hole opening up in his stomach.  
  
“You're... you're Mistress Blake?” he repeated and again she nodded, her expression closed off again. He shook his head, refusing to believe what she was really telling him. “No, you can't be. She's a, a...”  
  
“A whore, Bellamy,” Clarke stated carefully when it was clear he wasn't going to be able to get the word out. She didn't let her head drop, didn't look away or let her body in any way cave in on itself, just continued to meet his disbelieving stare. “I became a whore. I've slept with a couple dozen nobles and spied on each one of them to try to figure out which one killed my father, and many more commoners to keep up the charade. That's who I am now. Clarke Griffin, the Clarke Griffin you knew, really did die when the inn burnt down, and this is who I am now.”  
  
Bellamy barely heard a word she said after “whore.” Blood rushed to his head causing his ears to ring, and suddenly all he could imagine was Clarke being stuck at the center of a ring of nobles, being touched and prodded just like Octavia had been barely more than a week ago, only the image with her was so much worse. He'd heard the lilt in some of the nobles' voices when they'd mentioned Mistress Blake in his presence, noticed their smirks, and while he'd always tried to ignore it, now he couldn't. Now he was staring at one of his best friends, a girl he'd known since she was eight, and all of a sudden his vision went red.  
  
Without warning he lunged off of the end of the bed, grabbing tightly to the collar of Wells's shirt. “You!” he shouted, shaking the other man, “How could you let this happen?! How could you let her do this?!” To his fury Wells just met his glare with a calm stare, the purse of his lips the only indication of his own anger and Bellamy gave him another hard shake.  
  
“Bellamy let him go!” Clarke cried, springing up behind him to grab onto one of his arms. Silently she cursed herself for not being ready for this: she'd known he wouldn't react well when he learned the truth, but her own emotions at seeing him again had clouded her knowledge of his temper. She tugged harshly at his arm but he didn't budge and without really thinking about it she reached hurriedly into her pocket and grabbed her knife. He finally seemed to notice her again when he felt its blade just barely pressing against his neck, her left arm wrapped around his shoulder. “I mean it Bellamy,” she growled, her voice low and harsh, “let him go.” For a second he didn't, his rage at the whole situation piling up and needing an outlet, but when she added just the smallest amount of pressure to her knife he finally did as she'd ordered, practically throwing Wells back against his chair before he stepped away. Clarke moved with him, her knife remaining at his neck until she felt the mattress press against the back of her legs. She shifted and then encouraged him to sit and he did so, and only then did she let her knife drop from Bellamy's neck. Before anyone else could move she placed herself between the two men, glaring harshly at the man on the bed.  
  
“You will not attack him again,” she ordered, her tone hard and leaving no room for any kind of argument. “Wells didn't 'let' anything happen to me, and it wasn't his choice to make. Believe me, he hated it even more than you do, but I did what I had to in order to find the truth. It was _my_ decision, and one I would make again.” She paused, letting her words sink in, and then repeated, “You will _never_ attack him again. Without Wells I would have died many times over in the past seven years, and I wouldn't have been able to get revenge for my father without him. He is more loyal than anyone I know, and I would give up my life for him, just like I know he would do for me. I will kill for him, just like he's killed for me.”  
  
She heard movement behind her and then felt a hand lightly grasp her elbow. “It's alright, my lady,” she heard Wells murmur and knew he was now standing just behind her. “We both know he didn't mean it. It's all a lot to take in at once.”  
  
“I don't care,” Clarke told him, not turning around to look at her oldest friend and instead continuing to glare at Bellamy. “We protect each other, Wells. Against everyone, if we have to.”  
  
Bellamy's mouth hung open, too shocked to know what to think. The girl he'd grown up with had never had any particular talent with blades of any kinds, but this woman had just managed to get her knife to his throat without so much as taking a second to think about it. Sure, he'd been too enraged to really be paying attention to anything other than Wells, but the fact that her hand hadn't wavered once while the blade had been pressed to his neck told him as much as anything they'd actually said had. Even now she continued to glare at him, a storm brewing in dangerous blue eyes, and he felt a trickle of fear drip down his spine. It wasn't necessarily her he was afraid of but just that look in her eye, one that told him she wouldn't have hesitated to drag that knife across his throat if she'd needed to. He hadn't entirely known what to think when she mentioned they'd taken care of the men who'd killed Lord Jake but something about the way she stared at him now made it very clear she hadn't just watched or waited while Wells took them out.  
  
“You really have changed, haven't you?” he heard himself murmur, and Clarke's brow shifted just a little, the look beginning to melt away. “We all have,” she replied, voice just as quiet but still carrying a touch of the same hardness to it and Bellamy couldn't help but nod. She was right after all, none of them was still the same person they'd been before the fire, but now staring at Clarke he had no doubt that no one had changed as much as she had.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he finally said, looking from her to Wells still standing behind her. “To both of you. I shouldn't have... I overreacted. You did...” He made a face, but then continued, “I'm sure you both did what you had to to survive.”  
  
“We did,” Clarke agreed with a single nod and then she slipped her knife back into her pocket. Her fingers brushed a folded up piece of parchment as she did, and when her hand withdrew she held it in her fingers. “Everything we did was for my father and the other people who died in that fire, but now there's something else we need to do. Something a lot bigger than a lord's murder is going on, and we need your help.” She held out the parchment between them and Bellamy frowned before reaching out to take it.  
  
“What's this?” he asked as he unfolded it, glancing over the writing on it. He found a list of names and recognized each one and looked back up, an eyebrow rising as he shot a look at her.  
  
“The list of people I need you to get to help us,” she informed him, nodding to the paper. “We need to stop something really bad from happening, but if we're going to do it then we need help.”  
  
“What is it you're trying to stop?” Bellamy wanted to know, glancing back down at the list again and Clarke shook her head.  
  
“I'll tell you, but not yet. It'll be better if we wait until everyone's together to go over it.” She waited until Bellamy looked up again and met his eyes, holding his gaze. “This is important, Bellamy. More than you could even imagine. I need you to get these people, _all_ of them, together, and I need you to get them all to The Rig tonight. Lives are at stake. The sooner everyone knows what's going on, the better.” She took a step forward, still not looking away from big brown eyes watching her. “Can you do it? Will you get them there?” He scanned her eyes for a few long seconds, feeling a strange energy he didn't understand suddenly buzzing in the air between them, and then nodded.  
  
“I'll do it, Clarke,” he agreed, standing up. He held out his hand between them. “You know you can count on me.” She grasped his forearm, gripping it tightly, a fresh lump forming in her throat. “I do know that,” she agreed. Clarke swallowed to try to push down the lump, failed, and felt more tears form in the corners of her eyes. “I've missed you, Bellamy,” she whispered, her walls breaking down for just a moment, and all at once he pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her.  
  
“I've missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a cheek to the top of her head. He was shocked for a second to realize he'd grown tall enough to do so, and then held her tighter as a fresh flood of emotions hit him. “So much.” He looked past her to see Wells still watching them and then gestured for him to get up, and once he had he reached out and tugged the other man over to them. Wells stood a little stiffly but relaxed after a moment and then the three of them stood there, holding onto each other simply because they could.  
  
After a minute or two they parted, Wells stepping away from them again and Bellamy pulling back, and once again he found himself just staring down at Clarke, still barely able to believe it was really her.  
  
“Blake?” he asked quietly, eyes scanning her face. Clarke seemed to understand the silent question and her cheeks flushed just a little as she shrugged, looking away. “It's a common surname,” she tried by way of explanation, “and easy to remember.” Now she actually met his eyes, finding a gaze that felt both familiar and completely foreign after so many years. “I didn't think you or Octavia would mind if I borrowed it.”  
  
He reached out, his hand falling to her shoulder to give it a slight squeeze, and she felt a matching pressure in her chest. “Not at all,” he replied, one corner of his mouth slowly curling up into a half-grin that was nothing but familiar. She returned it with a smile of her own, her heart feeling just a little too big at the moment, and didn't look away again until he took another step back and let his hand fall from her shoulder.  
  
After another minute of staring Clarke gave Bellamy directions to The Rig, and then with a final long look he left, tucking the list she'd given him into his pocket and promising he'd see her again in just a few hours. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, obviously worried they would disappear again, but Clarke just gave him another small smile that he returned before finally leaving. As soon as he was out the door she let out a big sigh and sunk back onto the bed, rubbing her forehead with shaking fingers. Just seeing him again had almost been too much for her to handle, she honestly didn't know what she would do later that night when she would finally be face-to-face with even more of her old friends again.  
  
A hand settled on her shoulder and she looked up to see Wells staring at her, concern tugging at his expression.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice quiet, and she just gave him a nod.  
  
“Yeah,” she answered, “I'm fine. It's just...” She shook her head. “Just a lot, I guess. And it only gets harder from here.”  
  
“You know you don't have to do this,” he reminded her, though the look in his eyes told her how much he knew the words weren't true. “Exposing the duchess and my father and the rest of them, that isn't your responsibility.”  
  
Lexa's face flashed through her mind and she sat up a little straighter, her expression immediately evening out. “Yes it is,” she said, lifting her head a little higher. “They don't get to get away with hurting anyone else.” _Especially not her. I won't let them hurt her_ , she thought but kept to herself, the clenching of her fists the only evidence to her thoughts. Wells studied her for a second and then squeezed her shoulder.  
  
“They won't,” he promised her, “you'll stop them, and I'll be right there with you. Always.” She rested a hand over his, giving him a small smile of thanks, and then took in a long breath before letting it out slowly. He let go of her shoulder as she stood up and she met his eyes again.  
  
“Come on,” she said, nodding to the door, “I better go tell Luna not to worry about the group of people that will be coming to see me tonight.” He returned the nod and followed her, intending to stick by her side until this was all over.  
  
They still had far too much work to do to let themselves begin relaxing now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan was to have more reunions in this chapter, but it became way too long so I decided to split it up. More people will be realizing Clarke and Wells are alive and Clarke's plan will unfold next chapter! Stay tuned, my friends!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

“Come on Bell, what are we doing?” Octavia asked for at least the third time since her brother led them away from the palace, tossing him a look. He just shrugged, staring straight ahead and not meeting her eyes as he answered just as he had every time before, “We're going to see someone, that's it.”  
  
“Well does this person at least have a name?” Raven wanted to know, giving him her own look on his other side and he didn't look at her either as he just said, “You'll find out who it is soon, so stop asking.” Raven and Octavia met each other's eyes, both clearly clueless, and Octavia just shrugged as Raven rolled her eyes.  
  
Bellamy couldn't look at either of them as they walked down the streets of the city. He'd managed to get them out of the palace but hadn't told them why or where they were going or – far more importantly – who they were going to see. He tried a couple of times earlier that afternoon to get the words out, to tell them that Clarke and Wells were both alive, that he had seen and talked to them, but he hadn't been able to. They wouldn't believe him; they'd all been through the pain of their deaths too many times now, felt it over and over whenever anyone they met reminded them of either of their lost friends, so he knew they'd shake their heads and tell him he was dreaming. Even if they didn't they'd demand to see her at that moment and Clarke had told him to bring them at night, so he'd held it all in, anxious from the moment he'd left the Exodus Inn. That anxiety spiked now as they passed through the crowds of the city, worried about how they would react when they realized he hadn't told them about Clarke sooner and even more worried that he really had been dreaming somehow, that they would get to the end of the directions he'd been given and there wouldn't be any building there, no Clarke. He knew it wouldn't happen, was one hundred percent sure he'd actually seen them, but seven years of hurt easily played tricks on his mind he couldn't entirely ignore. While a voice whispered in his ear about how big an idiot he was being, he blatantly ignored the looks his sister and friend were giving him and continued down the street.  
  
“Who do you even know here?” Raven practically demanded, one hand going to her hip. “It's not like we've exactly had a ton of time to explore. You two spend practically all your time in the courtyard of the palace just waving your swords around.” She rolled her eyes, clearly telling them what she thought about that, but then her eyes instantly narrowed as Octavia's lips curled into a smirk.  
  
“Nice try with that, Rae, but you seem to be forgetting something. I've noticed you've been down watching during the training again. Strange that you only came back after Lady Anya started training the prince.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the other brunette and even Bellamy grinned at that, looking over at Raven out of the corner of his eye. The other woman crossed her arms over her front and just shrugged. “Pure coincidence,” she stated lightly, tossing the words out like they didn't matter. “I've just been bored, that's all, and since you two like hitting other people with swords so much I figured I should be there to keep an eye on you and make sure neither of you get into trouble. You especially, Octavia.”  
  
“You're lying, but you're also right,” Bellamy said, looking first to her and then over to his sister. “You aren't discreet at all when you stare at the lady, and O you definitely need someone watching you. I still think Philip and his friends probably want to get back at you for what you did at the queen's party.”  
  
Octavia scoffed, one hand dropping easily to the sword she always carried with her. “They can try whatever they want,” she replied, apparently not caring that she was talking about a group of nobles. “Any of them try anything I'll make sure they regret it.” She flashed a look over at her brother then, lifting an eyebrow as she added, “And by the way, way to jump on the subject change. I still want to know where the hell we're going.”  
  
“And who we're seeing,” Raven added and Bellamy shook his head, going silent again as they continued to berate him with questions he refused to answer.  
  
They walked for another few minutes and Bellamy silently hoped he'd remembered the directions correctly. He finally let out a sigh of relief when they turned a corner in the street and found a building not far in front of them, a sign above the front door that clearly read _The Rig_. He hadn't managed to keep the sound silent, too relieved both that he'd found it and that it was real, and once again the two shot him a strange look. They took another few steps and then Octavia's frown deepened, recognizing a man who stood in front of the building, silhouetted by flickering torchlight as the dark of the night deepened around them.  
  
“Lincoln?” she asked out loud, calling his name loud enough that he must have heard it because he turned towards them, lips instantly curling up a little when he spotted her. She quickened her pace as she made her way over to him but glanced at her brother before looking back at him. “What are you doing here?”  
  
The Guardsman nodded to Bellamy, telling her, “I don't know. Bellamy asked me to meet you all here.” He glanced up at the sign, his smile falling away as his brow knitted together. He looked over at Bellamy and he could tell from the way the older man stared at him that he knew exactly what kind of establishment they were standing outside of and he had to force himself not to look away as he felt his cheeks heat up. “Though why we're here he didn't say.”  
  
“Where exactly is here?” Raven wanted to know, glancing up at the sign, and Lincoln continued to stare at the other man, obviously waiting for him to answer. Bellamy was spared having to say anything when he heard someone call out behind him, “Hey!”  
  
They all turned to find Monroe making her way over towards them, Nathan Miller walking with her and already looking the building over. The lady wore an easy smile though one eyebrow was already raised, glancing from the sign above the door to Bellamy. “What are we doing here, Blake? Didn't think you'd be interested in this kind of entertainment.”  
  
“Entertainment?” Octavia asked, looking from Monroe to her brother, and Bellamy's cheeks just got hotter.  
  
“I'm not,” he informed Monroe, ignoring all the looks he was getting. “My friend told me we all needed to meet here.”  
  
“Your friend's playing a joke on you,” Monroe told him, still smirking. She nodded to the building, saying, “If they didn't tell you what The Rig is, then you might not want to call them your friend anymore.”  
  
“And just what kind of place is this?” Raven asked, turning when she heard the door to The Rig open and watching as a man walked out, grinning and seeming to fix his shirt as he left. She thought she had a pretty good idea from the few noises she could hear while the door was open, and wasn't exactly surprised when Lincoln answered for Bellamy, “The Rig is a brothel. One of the better known ones of Polis.”  
  
“Bellamy!” Octavia exclaimed, whirling on her brother. “What the hell are we _doing_ here?” He met her eyes and expected to find the shock and judgment now staring at him, but even though his cheeks continued to heat up he just stepped forward, making his way over to the door.  
  
“Just trust me, O,” he told her, holding her stare for a second and then looked around at everyone else watching him. “I swear, it'll all be explained in a minute. Please, just come with me.”  
  
“Whatever this is Bellamy, it isn't right,” Miller stated, shaking his head and Bellamy had to close his eyes for a second. He didn't even know why the young man was on Clarke's list but she wanted him there so he'd made sure to get him into the city and here, now he just had to get him to step through the door along with the rest of them.  
  
Luckily for him, he apparently had some help. Monroe hooked her arm around the other noble's, tugging him along behind her as she followed Bellamy forward.  
  
“Come on, relax a little,” she joked, bumping against his shoulder. She grinned as she looked back towards the building. “Mistress Luna runs a great business, and she's got some of the best working for her. If Bellamy's gonna bring us to a whorehouse, just be glad it's this one.”  
  
“You've been here before?” Raven asked, looking at Monroe curiously, still hanging back with Octavia and Lincoln, and the lady's grin grew.  
  
“Sure, why not?” she replied as she gave her a quick shrug. She nodded to the building, telling them, “I invited one of the women to a couple of the queen's parties. She definitely made them far more entertaining.”  
  
Bellamy froze, afraid he knew exactly who she was referring to, and he felt something roll in his stomach he didn't really know how to identify. Part of it was anger, the same fury he'd felt earlier that day when he first learned about Clarke's new life building up inside him, and another part was a strange mix of confusion. He liked Monroe, never would have thought to lump her in with Philip and his group, but now he was learning that she might have hired Clarke just like so many of them had. He couldn't even begin to decide how he felt about that, so finally he forced himself to stop thinking about it, hoping that somehow Clarke wasn't the woman Monroe was referring to.  
  
Before anyone could say anything else Bellamy opened the door again and made his way through, and he was relieved when he heard various sets of footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder once inside he found that they'd all followed him, though Monroe was the only one who seemed to be particularly happy about it.  
  
The noises inside the house immediately confirmed its identity and Bellamy felt his entire face flush red as moans and the slapping of skin echoed down the hall. He could hear people saying things but couldn't necessarily make any of it out and for that at least he was thankful, absolutely sure he didn't want to know what was being said. A woman sat behind the desk at the side of the room, a man who was clearly meant to be the house's muscle standing beside her while another woman leaned against the other side of the desk. All three of them turned to the group as they made their way inside and Bellamy saw the woman behind the desk study them, scanning each one quickly while the man behind her narrowed his eyes, apparently suspicious of a group of so many people carrying swords. The other woman, a blonde whose braid hung over her shoulder and dipped between breasts just barely covered by a robe, looked over them all, one corner of her mouth slowly turning up.  
  
“Lady Monroe, welcome back,” the woman behind the desk called, breaking the short silence that had strung out between them. “How can we help you tonight?”  
  
“Not sure, Mistress Flou,” Monroe answered and then hooked her thumb over at Bellamy. “He's the one with the plan tonight.” She released her hold on Miller and moved over to the desk, giving the woman leaning against it a cocky smirk. “Though gotta admit, I'm kind of hoping whatever this is doesn't take all night.” She held out her hand to the blonde. “Monroe.”  
  
The blonde glanced down at the offered hand, her lips slowly curling up in a grin that almost matched the knight's smirk. She took the hand even as her other one grabbed the fabric of her robe, dipping into a very small curtsy. “Harper. It's an honor to meet you, milady.” Monroe lifted Harper's hand to her lips, pressing a light kiss against the back of it before murmuring, “The honor is all mine, Mistress Harper.”  
  
Bellamy could have rolled his eyes at Monroe's antics if his heart wasn't busy trying to escape his chest. The sounds in the house were still getting to him, and he could feel the eyes of the people behind him boring into his back. He glanced around the room, not entirely sure what to do since neither Clarke or Wells were there, and then approached the desk.  
  
“I'm a, we're, we're looking for... for Mistress Blake,” he told her, deciding it would be better to use her cover name over the real thing for the moment. He could practically feel Raven and Octavia stiffen behind him but he didn't look back, just continued to meet the eyes of the house's mistress. She stared at him for a second as though she were seeing right through him and he almost fidgeted until she nodded.  
  
“You want the top floor,” she informed him, pointing over to the hallway that led further into the building. “Her room is the fifth one on the right. She's expecting you.” The woman glanced over at the group again. “All of you, as far as I know.”  
  
“Thank you,” Bellamy said, giving her a nod, and then he followed her directions, heading towards the hallway. Monroe shot Harper a wink and then followed, and the rest of their group quickly followed her.  
  
“Bellamy what is going _on_?” Raven hissed as they began climbing stairs, reaching out and grabbing at his arm. “What the hell are we doing here, and why are we going to see this Blake woman?”  
  
“You'll see in a minute,” he replied, shaking out of her grip and then picked up his pace and they all had to do the same to keep up with him. He could still feel them all giving him looks but he refused to turn around and instead just followed the directions he'd been given. At the top floor he led the way down the hall and then stopped at the fifth door on the right and just stared at it for a second. Nerves swarmed in his stomach, nervous about how they would all react when they realized the truth and still anxious at the thought of being able to see Clarke again, and then he was taking a deep breath as he reached out to grab the door handle.  
  
“Here we go,” he mumbled under his breath and then pushed the door open. 

***

Inside her room, Clarke paced as her heart raced in her chest. More than once over the past couple of hours she'd been sure she would be sick, but each time she'd managed to swallow the feeling down. Now as the sky outside her window steadily darkened it became harder and harder to do, anxiety and nerves constantly battling in her stomach and no amount of deep breaths could fight any of it back. Wells sat at the end of her bed, sharpening his knife, and though he looked steady she could tell he was nearly as nervous as she was. Every few minutes he would glance up at the door and then look out the window, only to then turn his attention back to his work. Neither of them said anything to the other, both wondering exactly how this evening would go.  
  
Clarke closed her eyes as her fingers fiddled with the pendant of her necklace, desperately trying to use it as an anchor to help calm her down. A piece of the fluttering in her stomach was excitement she knew, excitement to see the friends she'd left behind, but her nerves overpowered the feeling. What would Octavia and Raven say when they saw her? What would they think when they realized she'd been alive all this time and never reached out to them? She and Raven had grown up together, and they'd known Octavia since Jake brought her and Bellamy home when she was six; the three girls had become almost inseparable after that, but then Clarke had just walked away. On some level she knew they would understand, knew that eventually they would see why she'd done it, but even so a voice whispered in the back of her mind that she was fooling herself. She'd become someone else after leaving her home, and the voice threw everything she'd done at her, reminding her of every time she'd had to steal, had to lie or cheat to get what she needed. It reminded her of what she'd become, where she'd lived and what she'd done for six years in order to get what she wanted, and she hated it. She stuck by it all, could justify to herself every decision she'd made, but would those justifications be enough for the friends she'd grown up with?  
  
She was afraid of the answer to that question and knew it was the sole reason she'd never planned on going back to Arkadia. Clarke knew she could live with everything she'd done and all she'd let happen to her, but she wasn't sure she could live with her friends, her family trying to hide their shame of her. Their pity and disappointment were two of the very few things in life she wasn't sure she would be able to take so she had never planned to open herself up to either.  
  
The sound of footsteps shuffled on the other side of her door and Clarke froze, her anxiety spiking but she desperately made herself force it back. There was no turning back now, she would have to live with her choices and take whatever she found staring back at her once they knew she was alive, and she forced herself to take a deep breath as she turned towards her door. It pushed open and she saw Bellamy standing there with others crowded around behind him, and her heart jumped to her throat.  
  
“Alright Bell, seriously, what is-” she heard Octavia begin before she could actually see her, but then the brunette was pushing her way past her brother and suddenly Clarke's throat was burning. The younger woman had grown a few inches since she last saw her and her face had thinned out a little, her chin more pointed now with a dimple at its center too similar to her brother's to miss. At the moment her long dark hard was pulled back, little braids strewn through it and then all of it pulled into a ponytail, and Clarke felt the corners of her mouth twitch. Leave it to Octavia to adopt pieces of the Trikru style and then make it her own. Blue-green eyes had begun to scan the room as she passed her brother but they froze the moment she noticed Clarke, her entire body freezing along with them. The redhead didn't look away as Octavia's jaw fell open, too surprised to even notice it, and for a second the two just stared at each other.  
  
“O, why'd you-” another voice started to ask and Clarke's gaze ripped away from Octavia as another person pushed past Bellamy, but then Raven immediately stilled beside the other brunette the instant she saw the woman across the room. Clarke looked over to the second brunette, having to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her lip from trembling. From what she could see, Raven had barely changed at all. She could see lines etched into the corners of her mouth even though at the moment she wasn't smiling, met dark brown eyes just as intelligent as ever. From the look in those eyes Clarke could tell the older woman's mind had to be racing as she desperately tried to put together what was going on and this time the very tips of the corners of her mouth did twitch just a little. Her own hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail as well but without any of the Trikru braids, and the look felt so familiar to Clarke that she felt water begin to build up behind her eyes. She tried to hold the tears back though, couldn't let them obscure her view until she'd managed to take in every single detail of them both. Her racing heart skipped a few beats as she felt something squeeze against it.  
  
“N-no,” Octavia murmured, eyes still wide, at the same time Raven managed to get out, “How, how is this... How?”  
  
“What's the hold up?” Clarke heard Monroe call from in the hall and she really could have laughed. The feeling bubbled up to her lips and then died, the insane desire to laugh and cry at the same time canceling each other out, so in the end she just swallowed a few times before saying, “Just, just a second Monroe. We're just... just give us a second.”  
  
The sound of her voice seemed to break the two women from their stupors. Octavia began shaking her head slowly, her wide eyes going even wider as Raven noticeably swallowed. “It, it is you,” she whispered and then she took a step further into the room. “Clarke...”  
  
“It's me, Raven,” the redhead replied, voice a little lower than normal. She gave a little shrug and couldn't quite help it as a single tear fell down her cheek. “It is.”  
  
Later Clarke wouldn't be able to accurately describe what happened next. One moment both women were on the other side of the room, and then in a blink they were holding her, their arms wrapping so tightly around her that the redhead couldn't breathe. That didn't even begin to matter though, because Clarke was holding them just as tightly, tears now freely falling down her face as she was pressed between her two best friends.  
  
“Clarke,” Octavia whispered, her voice very nearly breaking in a sob, and Clarke could feel dampness hit her neck where the younger woman's face was pressed against it. “I know, Octavia,” she murmured back, holding her even more tightly. The three held each other for a long minute, none of them beginning to know how to let go, until finally Raven stepped back, already scanning Clarke's face with the same undeniable shock still in her eyes.  
  
“How?” she demanded to know, not looking away from the woman they'd all believed was dead. “I don't understand. You're dead.” She looked over to Wells then, as though she was only just noticing him for the first time. She stepped over to him and grabbed his shirt, roughly pulling him into a hug that was just as tight as Clarke's had been, but didn't stop questioning them. “You were both dead. The fire, and Lord Jake, you were, were dead.”  
  
“Jake, is he here too?” Octavia suddenly asked, quickly scanning the room as though he might all of a sudden appear out of thin air. The question made something in Clarke's gut twist uncomfortably but she shook her head. “No. Wells and I made it out, but not, not my father.”  
  
“Wait a second,” they heard, and Clarke tore her focus away from the two brunettes to look across the room. Bellamy, Monroe, Nathan Miller and Lincoln now stood inside as well, the door already closed behind them, and she realized she hadn't even heard them come in. Miller's eyes were slightly narrowed and his posture was stiff, while Bellamy was smiling softly, apparently just watching the reunion. Both Lincoln and Monroe were watching the scene curiously, Lincoln's brow furrowed a little while Monroe looked completely and utterly confused. She was the one who'd spoken up, and Clarke looked over to her to see her eyes darting between them. They stopped on the redhead and she took a step forward, her head tilting a little to the side. “Clarke what, what's going on? What are you saying?”  
  
“You know her?” Raven asked, looking between the two of them, and Clarke touched her arm to reassure her. Looking back over at Monroe, the redhead gave her a slight smile and then told her, “Monroe, I'm not who you think I am. My name isn't Clarke Blake. It's Clarke Griffin.”  
  
Monroe visibly paled, all the color washing from her face. She stood frozen for a second, probably trying to process the words, and then she winced. Quickly she dropped into a bow, stammering, “Uh, my lady it's uh, um, nice to meet you? I apologize for, for well... you know.” She winced again and Clarke just shook her head, her smile growing by just a centimeter.  
  
“Don't worry Monroe,” she assured her, taking a few steps towards the woman and then reaching out, lightly touching her arm to get her to stand back up. Seeing the knight bowing to her made something strange shift in her gut, the feeling in no way comfortable and just mixing with the storm of nerves already whirling through her. “You really don't have anything to apologize for.” The younger woman's eyes flickered to her own, still cautious and uncertain and Clarke let her grip tighten a little on her arm. “You were always a good companion, and besides, I'm more Mistress Blake now than the Lady of Arkadia. You really don't need to bow to me.”  
  
“Wait a second,” Octavia butted in, giving Clarke a look. “Mistress Blake? _You're_ Mistress Blake?” The redhead just nodded, her smile falling away as her heart began to thump against her chest again. Her hand dropped from Monroe's arm and she waited as light eyes scanned her face, obviously putting this all together, feeling Raven's eyes on her too. “I really don't understand,” Octavia said, shaking her head and looking from Clarke to Wells and then back. “ _You're_ Mistress Blake. You're _alive_. What the hell is going on?”  
  
“You knew about this?” they heard Raven say, and both women looked over to her to see the older brunette glaring across the room at Bellamy. Both of her hands went to her hips and a fire blazed in her eyes that made Clarke's heart squeeze, far too familiar. “How long? How could you know she was alive and not tell us? Or Abby? What the hell Bellamy?!” She took a threatening step towards him and he held up his hands. Clarke quickly left Monroe to step between them, breaking Raven's line of sight to him.  
  
“He only found out about us this morning,” she informed the rest of them, “and only because we reached out to him. You're all here because we need your help.” She looked around the room, finding all eyes on her and a multitude of different expressions written across their faces. Octavia and Raven still looked furious and confused and elated all at once, while Lincoln and Monroe kept glancing back and forth between them and Clarke. Miller didn't take his eyes off the redhead and Clarke couldn't really tell what he was thinking even with his brow furrowed a little bit. The only one not looking at her was Wells who had been scanning them all as well, but when he noticed her turn to him he met her eyes. “I think everyone should sit down,” he suggested. “It's a long story to tell.” She nodded and immediately Raven and Octavia dropped to the end of her bed, Raven's arms crossing over her chest and one of Octavia's eyebrows raising as she gave Clarke a look, clearly telling her she better begin soon.  
  
Bellamy moved over to join them, squeezing Clarke's hand as he went by, but when he sat next to Octavia his sister gave him the cold shoulder. Clarke rubbed her forehead, seeing that she had started something between them, something that would hopefully end by the time she finished her story; the last thing she needed to deal with was Octavia's famous temper, especially when it was directed at her brother. At most times the two were as close as siblings could be, but when either of them got angry at the other, it became a headache for everyone around them.  
  
While Bellamy sat, Miller made his way over to Clarke and she turned towards him. Almost before he'd finished walking he was lowering into a bow, and when he looked up at her she caught the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips.  
  
“I thought you looked familiar,” he told her, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes, “when I saw you at the palace. I couldn't place it though.” He lowered even further into the bow, and the amusement wiped away, sincerity taking its place before he added, “I am very glad to know you're alive, my lady. My father and I grieved over the loss of you and your father.”  
  
“Thank you, Miller,” she replied, touched by his words, even if the bowing still made her uncomfortable. “I didn't want you to recognize me before, but it's very good to see you again.” He gave her an easy smile and then rose from his bow, making his way over to one of the two chairs she'd managed to pilfer earlier in the day for this very meeting.  
  
Monroe passed her next, staring at her and then quickly looking away when Clarke caught her. She rubbed nervously at the back of her neck, giving the redhead a partial grin. “I feel kind of like an idiot,” she admitted and Clarke gave her another smile.  
  
“Don't,” she said, “you have no reason to. There was no way you should have known who I am, and if you had it would have just made things more difficult for me. You actually helped me a lot without even realizing it.”  
  
“Always happy to help a beautiful woman,” Monroe informed her and then quickly made a face. “Dammit, it's too easy to flirt with you and I feel like I shouldn't now.”  
  
“You shouldn't,” Clarke heard Bellamy mutter and she came very close to rolling her eyes. Instead she just gave Monroe a reassuring smile, telling her, “I always enjoyed flirting with you much more than with any of the other nobles who hired me, so don't worry about it. At least you were always fun.” Monroe shared her smile and then gave her a wink before moving onto the second chair to make herself comfortable.  
  
Once she'd passed, it was Lincoln's turn to move over to Clarke, and when she looked up at the Guardsman she found a knowing look tucked away in the back of his eyes.  
  
“I guess this explains why you always did so well with so many nobles,” he stated and she shrugged, one corner of her mouth curling up into a grin.  
  
“I told you I'd been trained,” she reminded him and he nodded, mouth tugging up into a small smile. “You did,” he agreed, “though I never would have guessed in exactly what context.” He studied her for a moment, eyes flickering between her own. “I don't know why you did any of this or really what's going on, but I'm impressed.” For some reason coming from him that meant a lot so she just nodded, returning his smile, and then watched as he strolled over to the side of the room where the rest of them had gathered, moving to stand easily beside the bed and turning to look at her again. While he went Wells shifted over to her, taking his place just behind her and to her right, and she took a silent breath as she prepared herself for their story.  
  
“The fire that burned down the inn seven years ago wasn't an accident, it was just meant to look like one,” she began, diving right into their story. She had a lot to get through, and a short amount of time to do it. Some of her audience shifted in their seats, either leaning towards her or studying her closely, but she couldn't let herself focus on any one of them. “Somebody hired two mercenaries to kill me and my father and anyone who might be a possible witness. They drugged everyone at the inn and then murdered my father in front of me, and then left me to burn alive. Instead Wells found me in time and we were able to get away, but were the only two to survive.”  
  
As she spoke Octavia's eyes flashed, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword while Raven clenched her jaw tightly and her hands curled into fists. Monroe and Lincoln both frowned, watching her intently, and Miller's lips pursed together. Bellamy couldn't look at her, anger clearly spelled out across his face despite the fact he'd heard the story earlier that morning. Clarke didn't let herself focus on any of them, just needing to continue with her story. Unbeknownst to them, the fire was only the beginning of their trouble.  
  
“When we got away, I decided it wouldn't be safe to go back to Arkadia,” she continued, guilt momentarily rising in her throat as she could barely look at the three watching her on her bed. “It was too dangerous: someone wanted me dead and wasn't afraid of hurting others to get to me, so Wells and I decided we would track them down and take care of them before we went back home.” She saw no reason to mention she hadn't planned on going back, keeping the detail to herself. Clarke glanced over at Wells, her silent partner, and continued, “For a year we followed the mercenaries as best we could. We managed to learn little details about them but were never able to catch up with them. Towards the end of that year we met a woman named Luna Flou. She saw we were trying to get information, and told me there was a better way for a woman to try to learn about people.” Clarke gestured to the room around her. “She told me that people don't think about it when they tell a whore anything, that all they really focus on is what's between their legs, forgetting that they have eyes and ears as well. I knew the person who hired the mercenaries had to be a noble, and she told me that the best way to find my noble would be to fall into their bed.” She shrugged then, looking just over her friends' heads. “So that's what I did. I moved here to Polis to join her house and became a whore.”  
  
Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on the bed, obviously still unhappy about that but trying to accept it while Octavia and Raven shared a look, the younger brunette almost wincing while Raven lifted an eyebrow before turning her focus from Clarke to Wells.  
  
“I'm surprised you were okay with that,” she told him in a carefully even tone and he lifted his head a little higher. “I wasn't,” he informed her but gestured to Clarke. “But you know how stubborn she can be. I hated it, but she convinced me.”  
  
“It was necessary,” Clarke reminded him, giving him a look before turning back to her audience. “Wells continued tracking Bennet and Jenson, the mercenaries, and I became known in Polis as the whore nobles should go to. He followed them and I drugged and searched the rooms of every noble who hired me, looking for any information on who might lead me to my father's killer.”  
  
“What?” Monroe interrupted, her eyes going wide. “You drugged them? Me?” Her friends on the bed all shot the noblewoman a look while Clarke turned to her, giving her a half-hearted shrug. “It was necessary,” she repeated, not sounding at all apologetic. “I needed to see what I could find.” She paused for a second, then added, “I found a lot of interesting things over the years, but not with you.”  
  
“But when? How?” she wanted to know, looking like she was trying to wrack her brain for anything that might clue her in and Clarke made her way over to the side of the room, reaching up to the little shelf hanging on the wall. She took the little jar she almost always carried round with her, removing the top and then sticking a finger inside it. Pulling it back she swiped a line of red lip paint across the back of her hand and then showed it to Monroe who blushed as soon as she saw it.  
  
“There's a drug infused in my lip paint,” she informed her, “it knocks a person unconscious a few minutes after it enters their system. Pair it with a glass or two too many of wine, and the next morning the person just thinks they had too much to drink, that's why they can't quite remember everything from the night before.” The knight's cheeks flushed a little brighter but she nodded, apparently impressed. “Ah,” she stated, looking up from the red streak across the back of Clarke's hand up to her face, “That's pretty handy.”  
  
“Can I see that?” Raven asked and Clarke closed the jar again before lightly tossing it over to the brunette. She opened the jar and stuck a finger in it, examining the lip paint more closely. “Clever,” she muttered, thinking to herself, and then her lips curled up into a little smirk. “I could have some fun with something like this.”  
  
Bellamy reached over and swiped the jar from her, already rolling his eyes. “You really don't need anymore fun,” he informed her, his voice dry as he gave Clarke a look. Handing the jar back to her, he said, “So you started doing... this,” he waved his hand around, and now it was his turn to blush, “and Wells went after the mercenaries. What happened next?”  
  
Clarke shrugged even as she turned around to put the jar back in its spot on her shelf. “For a while, not much,” she admitted. “For about six years Wells followed them and I was here, searching in my own way. But at the beginning of the summer Wells found them and learned they were coming to Polis, so we got ready. When they were here we laid a trap for them using myself as bait, and when we got them alone Wells knocked them out and then when they woke up we tried to get more information out of them about the person who had hired them. They confirmed it was a noble but said they'd never met him, had only ever talked with a man named Emerson. That was all they knew so we killed them.”  
  
“You didn't just hear that, Lincoln,” Octavia interrupted, giving Clarke a look before turning towards where the Guardsman stood beside the bed. She shot him a warning look, as though she were daring him to try to arrest her friend, and he just held up his hands.  
  
“I'm a member of the Palace Guard, not the City Guard,” he told her, “it's not my place to arrest anyone for crimes committed outside of the palace.” He looked over at Clarke then, meeting her eyes. “Besides, it sounds like these two men were responsible for the deaths of dozens of people in just one night alone; I'm sure they got exactly what they deserved.”  
  
“No, but they got at least a piece of it,” Wells stated, standing easily though from the corner of Clarke's eye she could see his hand hung carefully by his sword. She had no doubt he'd loosened up a bit when she'd finished talking, just as prepared as Octavia was should the Guard feel the need to intervene on behalf of the law. Clarke had been relatively sure he wouldn't try to arrest her, but she appreciated the support from both of her friends.  
  
“All that matters is they're dead,” she said, looking from the friend who had stuck by her back to their audience. She looked from Lincoln and those on the bed over to the two in the chairs. “With them gone, we started looking for Emerson, hoping he would lead us to whoever his master was. And he did. It took us a few more weeks, but finally we found them both.” Clarke locked eyes with Monroe, the knight leaning forward a little in her seat. “It was Cage,” she growled, her hands curling into fists as she thought of the man who had started this all. “He's the one who killed my father.”  
  
A current of shock ran through the room, everyone's eyes growing wide as those who had been leaning forward quickly shifted back.  
  
“Cage _Wallace_?” Raven asked, the shock evident in the way her voice rose. “You mean the heir of the wealthiest family in the nation?”  
  
“I don't care who he is, he has to pay for this!” Octavia exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. Her eyes blazed as both of her hands curled into tight fists. “We'll make him pay! No way are we letting him get away with what he's done!”  
  
“Bring him up before the queen,” Miller suggested, nodding along to what Octavia had said. “She'll make sure he answers for his crimes.”  
  
“That's not good enough,” Bellamy growled, a fierce fury burning in his dark eyes. His fists pressed into his thighs and his teeth were clenched. “He needs to suffer!”  
  
“Agreed,” Monroe stated, nodding over to him. Her hand hovered near the sword strapped to her belt, clearly itching to draw it. “He doesn't get to get away with this just because of his name. He should pay for this with blood.”  
  
“He was going to,” Clarke interrupted, cutting through the debate and suddenly everyone was looking at her again. She nodded to Wells, telling them, “Last night Wells and I went to make sure he and Emerson both paid for what they'd done, but we ended up stumbling on something even bigger than just the fire. Yes he was the one who orchestrated it, but that was only part of a much bigger plan.” She took a breath, trying to steady herself before she said, “Cage is working for Nia. The duchess has a group of nobles and spies working for her. During the tournament in two days she's planning to kill the queen.”  
  
A noticeable chill ran through the room, Clarke's words followed by stark silence. Everyone listening to her paled, the color entirely washing out of their faces.  
  
“What did you just say?” Lincoln demanded in a quiet voice, taking a step forward, and even as Wells's hand settled on the hilt of his weapon Clarke just met his eyes steadily, not looking away.  
  
“We heard them,” she informed him. “We were hiding, waiting for an opportunity to take out Cage, when people started showing up in his room. The duchess and a woman named Ontari were the last ones there, and we heard everything they said. She wants the queen's throne, and she plans to take it.”  
  
“But... but, that's treason,” Bellamy whispered, his lips practically white. “Killing the queen, that's-”  
  
“Regicide,” Monroe finished, her voice soft and eyes wide. Her mouth hung open a bit, clearly too horrified to even notice.  
  
Suddenly Lincoln started moving forward, leaving his spot by the bed to make his way to the door. He moved quickly but Wells was faster, stepping directly into his path and forcing the Guard to stop.  
  
“Get out of my way,” he growled, the normally calm man's eyes flashing. “I need to warn the queen.”  
  
“We brought you here for a reason,” Wells replied, not appearing to be cowed in the slightest from the intensity of the man's glare. “We're not done.”  
  
“The queen is in trouble!” Lincoln exclaimed, his hand dropping to his sword and grasping its hilt tightly. “It's my job to protect her, and that's what I'm going to do!” He took a threatening step forward that had the rest of the room holding their breath but Wells's expression didn't change.  
  
“You can leave when Lady Clarke has finished,” Wells stated, mirroring the other man's stance, tension instantly filling the air. The room was far too small for any kind of a duel but Clarke could easily see that's where this was headed, so she quickly moved over to them.  
  
“Lincoln, please, I know you want to protect Lexa,” she pleaded with him, needing to talk quickly to keep the situation from escalating any further. She'd known their information would cause tensions to rise and had wondered if something like this would happen, but even so her heart thumped nervously against her chest. She didn't reach out to the Guard, didn't dare try to touch him with his posture as stiff as it was, but neither did she cower away from him. “I do too, that's why I asked Bellamy to get you here. I have a plan, but to make sure it works I need you. Please.”  
  
Lincoln's eyes shifted over to her, harder than she'd ever seen them before.  
  
“You found out yesterday that the duchess wants Lexa dead, and you're only telling anyone now?” His jaw clenched, grip tightening on his sword, and to her side Clarke saw a flash of steel at Wells's waist, just a couple of inches of the weapon pulling free. “How do you know she isn't going after the queen even as we speak?”  
  
“Because she's waiting for the perfect opportunity,” she answered immediately, trying to take a step towards him but Wells's hand flashed out, grabbing her arm tightly and holding her back. She didn't fight against it, knew he was just trying to protect her, but didn't look away from the Guard either. “Nia wants Lexa dead, but she needs it to happen in a way nobody can tie back to her. She wants to use her death as a way to claim the throne, but that won't work if people find out she's behind everything, so she's going to wait for the chaos of the tournament. We heard them all talking about it, which means we have _time_. Time to put a plan into place that will catch them all.” She scanned his eyes, his expression still hard but she could see him thinking it over, his posture very slowly relaxing. Clarke used that as a sign she was getting somewhere, and added, “Please Lincoln; I need you to trust me.”  
  
He kept studying her, not yet moving his hand away from the hilt of his sword until he felt fingers lightly gripping his arm. Looking over he found Octavia now beside him, he and Clarke both too focused on the other to have noticed her move, and met light eyes.  
  
“It's okay, Lincoln,” she murmured, squeezing his arm a little harder. She nodded over to the redhead, not taking her eyes away from his. “You can trust Clarke; if she says she has a plan, then we have to believe her. We're not going to let anything happen to Her Majesty.” He held her gaze for a moment, still standing a little stiffly, and then all at once his shoulders relaxed and his hand dropped to his side. He nodded to the younger woman, his other hand moving to cover hers, and the last traces of the nervous tension that had been hanging in the air around them dissipated.  
  
Clarke didn't miss the interaction between one of her best friends and the Guardsman, filing it away to go over later. For now she was just thankful Lincoln was no longer trying to run back to Lexa, though it was a temptation she herself had been fighting every second since the previous night. As the two of them took their little moment together, Clarke turned back to Wells.  
  
“You can put that away,” she told him quietly, nodding to his barely drawn sword. He watched Lincoln closely for another few seconds to determine whether he agreed but then did as she'd said. As the steel of his sword disappeared, he raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
“Next time it'd be nice if you didn't go near an angry soldier carrying a sword,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up just a bit as he gave her a look. “At least while you're unarmed. I would really appreciate it.” She shared in his joke, smiling a little in return. “I'll do my best,” she promised, both of them knowing it likely wouldn't stop her.  
  
Lincoln and Octavia shifted, looking over at them, and the Guard asked, “Alright Clarke, what's your plan?”  
  
“Yeah,” Raven agreed, now standing by the bed. “How do we stop this?” Clarke looked over at the others in the room and found that they'd all risen during her stare-down with Lincoln, now standing and watching her intently. Monroe shifted from one foot to the other quickly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, adrenaline apparently already pumping. Raven's arms were crossed over her chest as she scanned Clarke's face, and Bellamy and Miller were both standing still, their hands hovering around the swords strapped to their waists. She had a room full of people willing and ready to listen to her, and for the first time since she realized just how bad this situation was she felt a little spark of hope flare in her chest. It would take a lot still; after all, they were only eight people trying to stop a conspiracy, but for the first time she thought they might just stand a chance.  
  
“We have to do this carefully,” she informed them, taking a few steps closer to the group, Wells moving behind her. “We can't just go after Nia and assume word won't get out about what happened. If any of her conspirators find out they've been caught they'll flee and the queen could stay in danger.”  
  
“So we need to find a time to go after them all at once,” Bellamy clarified, brow furrowing a little as he made sure he understood. “Did you hear them say when they'll be meeting again? We could ambush them, disarm them and then take them to the queen and tell her what they were going to do.”  
  
“They didn't say,” Clarke replied, shaking her head. “Emerson was supposed to meet a group of mercenaries today, but that's all we got about any other meeting.”  
  
“Mercenaries?” Lincoln asked, eyes flashing again. “Did you hear who they are?”  
  
“It sounded like they're led by a man named Landen,” Wells answered for her and the Guardsman made a face.  
  
“The Gonakru. They're a couple dozen mercenaries who'll go after anyone for the right price.” He shook his head. “Nia could have hired more for less, but not everyone's willing to go after a queen. Landen and his people will and won't care, just so long as they get paid.”  
  
“It didn't sound like the duchess even plans to use them,” Clarke told him, thinking back to the conversation she'd overheard. “I think they're going to be there in case her other plans don't pan out. They're using the tournament specifically so that whatever happens will get lost in the chaos.”  
  
Lincoln's brow rose and then fell again, his lips pulling into a thin line for just a second. “If they're only there for back up then the duchess isn't letting anything go to chance. They're an expensive safety net to have in place she doesn't even plan to use.”  
  
“Nia's plans are all for the day of the tournament, right?” Octavia asked, glancing over at Clarke and Wells and they both nodded. “Then whatever we're going to do, we just have to do it before then. We surprise them before they can surprise the queen.”  
  
“You said you had a plan, Clarke?” Monroe reminded the room and the redhead nodded. “Bellamy and Octavia are both right: whatever we do, we have to do it before the tournament and have to make sure we get all of them at once.” She took a deep breath, letting it out quickly before she told them, “I think we should use the queen's audience tomorrow to expose them. It's sooner than I'd like, but I think it's our best chance. The nobles all go to them, right?”  
  
“They have been all summer,” Lincoln confirmed with a nod, a spark lighting in his eyes at the thought. “Nia never misses them, and as far as I can tell the rest of the nobility are always there as well.”  
  
“They are,” Monroe agreed, giving them a firm nod. “I know I've been to all of them since I've been in Polis, and I know I've at least seen Cage and his father at them too.” She frowned then, a thought coming to her, and looked at Clarke. “Do you think Dante is involved in this?”  
  
The redhead shook her head but found herself saying, “I don't know for sure, but I don't think so. He's never seemed like he was anything but loyal to the queen, but we should keep an eye on him just in case.” She looked between Monroe and Lincoln, telling them, “You also need to keep your eye on Myers and Illen: they were two of the people who showed up in Cage's room last night. I think it's their job to convince the other nobles that Nia should be queen if Lexa dies.” Lincoln's jaw clenched and Monroe's eyes narrowed, a harsh laugh bubbling up her throat.  
  
“You know, that doesn't surprise me,” she stated, “they always act like they're better than everyone else, so of course they'd think they can steal a throne.” She paused then, frowning again before meeting Clarke's eyes. “Do you think Finn knows about this?”  
  
She'd wondered that already herself and bit her lip.  
  
“I don't know,” Clarke admitted. “He wasn't in the room and nobody mentioned him, but that doesn't mean anything. We should probably keep an eye on him too, and their father.” At that last word she glanced over at Wells, finding a steely expression carved into his face and knew they must be thinking the same thing. Again she bit her lip but then she turned to Miller and the other Arkadians, telling them, “There are a couple of other people we need to watch and make sure they're at the audience. Diana Syndey was in the room last night too. So was Thelonius Jaha.”  
  
All of the Arkadians' eyes widened, and they all glanced over at Wells, finding the same steely look still etched into his skin. He didn't flinch, didn't even act as though he knew either of the two people just mentioned, and stared straight ahead as Octavia stuttered, “Jaha? But, but how could he be part of this?”  
  
“Sydney's always wanted more than she had, we all could see that, but Jaha?” Raven managed to get out, “I don't, don't understand.”  
  
“He betrayed us,” Wells stated, his voice hard and everyone could hear the way he had to fight to control it. “He's the one who told Wallace about the trip to the Millers' fief. He's the reason Lord Jake is dead.”  
  
Clarke hadn't thought it would be possible, but Bellamy, Raven and Octavia all went paler, their skin now an ashy white.  
  
“He was Jake's best friend,” Octavia murmured, the shock making her quiet, and Clarke felt the familiar fire of her fury begin burning in her gut. She tamped it down, both for Wells's sake and for the sake of their planning; they couldn't afford to get distracted, and Wells didn't need a reminder to just how deep his father's betrayal went. As it was all three of their friends were staring at him and he just stood stiffly, forcing himself to keep his head up against their gazes. Clarke stepped towards him, resting a hand against his arm and when he looked at her she gave it a light squeeze. He held her eyes for a second and then nodded, and when Clarke looked back over at the rest of them her expression hardened.  
  
“We all know what Thelonius was to my father. Now that I know what he did to him, he's going to pay, but Wells has been loyal to me every second. He had nothing to do with Thelonius's betrayal, and I expect everyone to remember that.” Slowly she scanned over all of them, making sure to catch everyone's eyes, and only once she had did she nod. She then shifted her focus to Miller, telling him, “Miller, I want you to try to keep an eye on Diana until the audience tomorrow. Don't call any attention to yourself, but try to keep track of who she talks to. Maybe she'll lead us to anyone else who's part of the coup.” She turned to Octavia, catching the brunette's eyes. “Octavia, I want you to do the same with Jaha. Remember, you can't let him know we're on to him.” She reinforced the words with a steady stare, making sure to not look away from bright eyes. “No matter how angry you are, you have to keep your distance. One slip, one warning and Nia could get away.” The younger woman nodded, standing up a little straighter.  
  
“Don't worry Clarke, you can count on me,” Octavia swore, her right fist moving to her chest and then she gave a little bow to her lady and friend. Miller copied the motion, even bowing a little deeper. “And me, my lady,” he agreed and Clarke just nodded to them both, choosing not to say anything about the bowing. She wanted to shift uncomfortably, feeling as though she had put on a dress that no longer fit her, but held herself still.  
  
“What can I do, Clarke?” Raven wanted to know, taking a step forward, and the redhead looked over at her. “Are you still good in a kitchen?” she asked and one corner of the brunette's mouth curled up into a little smirk. “I didn't learn much from my mother, but I did learn how to cook,” she answered and Clarke nodded.  
  
“Good,” she just said, “then that's where I want you. Nia mentioned that one way to get rid of the queen could be by poison, and if that's the case then I'm sure she has at least one person in the kitchen working for her. I want you there to make sure nothing ends up in Lexa's food that shouldn't be there. Nothing should happen until the day after tomorrow if they're definitely waiting for the tournament, but the sooner you can get in the kitchen the easier I'll feel.”  
  
“I can get her in tonight,” Lincoln assured them. “Shouldn't be hard at all. They've hired enough new cooks to help prepare for the tournament she should be able to blend right in.”  
  
“Perfect,” Clarke said, nodding to the Guard, “that'll work.” She looked up at Lincoln then, tilting her head and asked carefully, “Is there a man named Tristan on the Guard?” He nodded, brow knitting together, and Clarke shook her head. “You need to keep an eye on him,” she informed him, “he's working for Nia. I think maybe he has been for a while. He was in the room last night too, and it sounds like maybe he's even been able to talk some of the other Guard into following her too. Or at least, he's been trying.”  
  
Fury flashed in Lincoln's eyes, the skin along his knuckles going taut as his fingers curled into tight fists.  
  
“I'll have a word with him when I get back to the palace,” he stated, his voice dangerously low. “And then I'm sure Indra will want to spend some time with him as well.” Octavia's lips pulled up into a thin smile, something dark passing along her expression. “She's going to want to spend time with all of them,” she added and the two shared a look, just barely grinning at each other.  
  
Clarke shifted uncomfortably, biting the inside of her cheek. “Lincoln, are you planning on telling Indra about all of this?” she wanted to know, and the lieutenant looked at her, brow rising a hair.  
  
“Of course,” he said, clearly surprised she even had to ask. “Indra's the Captain, she needs to know if there's a threat against the queen, especially if that threat is already in the palace.”  
  
It was exactly the answer Clarke had expected and she closed her eyes, rubbing slightly at her forehead. “When Indra hears about all of this, is she going to be able to stay calm and wait?” She'd never interacted with the woman personally, but from what she'd seen and heard about her the redhead seriously doubted it. The Captain of the Palace Guard was famously known for her fierce loyalty to the queen and fiery temper. Clarke made sure not to look away from Lincoln, not breaking their eye contact as she added, “She can't go after Tristan or Nia or any of them and neither can you, not until it's time. Word gets around too easily; if any one of us slip up a servant could hear about it, and gossip spreads like fire in places like the palace. The second any of Nia's spies hear that something has happened to Tristan she'll know, and it's entirely likely she'll realize she's been caught. If she gets away none of this will matter, Lexa will still be in danger.”  
  
Lincoln stared at her as though he couldn't quite believe what she was saying. “So you don't want me to tell Indra, the Captain of the Palace Guard, that people are planning an attack on the queen?”  
  
“Not if you aren't entirely sure she can keep it a secret, no,” Clarke answered firmly. “The same goes for Anya. I know the only thing either of them really care about is keeping Lexa safe, but if there's any chance either of them won't be able to hold back then they can't know about it.”  
  
She'd thought about that one long and hard, spent hours last night trying to decided if she should include Anya in their planning, but in the end had decided against it. She had seen first hand how protective of the queen the knight was, and she couldn't take any risks with this plan. Besides, she highly doubted Anya had so much as left Lexa's side since she caught her in the city, so Lexa was as safe now as she would be if the knight knew about the threat. There was no great benefit with letting her know and too many risks, so she'd decided it would be best to leave Anya in the dark. Assuming she survived all this, the knight would probably hate her forever for not telling her about the duchess, but she could live with that.  
  
For a few long seconds she held Lincoln's stare, neither of them looking away as though they were stuck in a battle of wills. Finally he nodded stiffly, telling her, “I won't tell either of them. For now. But if it looks like something is about to happen, or if I think Lexa is in any kind of danger at all, I won't hesitate. I'd rather your careful plan be ruined and a couple of them get away than risk the queen's life.”  
  
“Okay,” Clarke just said, giving him a single nod. He couldn't even begin to know how much that worked for her, her heartbeat picking up again just at the idea of Lexa in any kind of danger. She would let them all get away – including Cage – if if it meant keeping her safe.  
  
“What about you, Clarke?” Bellamy wanted to know, breaking into their conversation and pulling them both back to the rest of the room. “We'll all keep our eyes on them, I'll even see if I can figure out who any of the duchess's spies are, but what are you going to be doing?” The question had everyone looking at her again and Clarke could have let out a sigh, forcing herself to keep it in at the last second. She would be doing the one thing she'd never planned to do, and just thinking about it made her heart leap into her throat.  
  
“Tomorrow when the audience starts I'm-” she began to tell them but all of a sudden Wells's hand was on her shoulder and when she looked over to him he held one finger up to his lips. She frowned but immediately went quiet, having worked with him long enough to know to listen, and then watched as he silently crept over to the door. The rest of their group had gone silent as well when she did, and now they all watched him. Clarke could tell by the stiffness in his spine that he must have heard something, and without needing to think about it her hand fell to her pocket, pulling out her knife. Almost at the same time Wells wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, drawing a few inches of the blade from its sheathe, and behind her Clarke could hear a number of other swords sliding lightly against leather casing. She didn't turn around to see who else was arming themselves, just felt herself shift and settle into an easy fighter's stance as her eyes trained on the door, settling into the adrenaline suddenly pumping through her body. Wells pressed himself against the door, listening at it for just a second, and then silently grabbed the knob. He glanced back at Clarke and she nodded, fingers tightening around her knife, and then without any other warning he swung the door open, drawing his sword in the same motion.  
  
To Clarke's utter surprise, Jasper tripped through the doorway, only saved from falling on his face when Maya and Monty each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him back to his feet. Niylah and Harper were behind them, and even more shocking was the fact that Luna stood back behind them. All six of them stared into the room as its occupants stared back, most of them still standing stiffly with their weapons at the ready despite the robes most of the newcomers wore.  
  
“What are you all _doing_?” Clarke demanded, immediately standing up straight again and very nearly throwing her hands up, entirely forgetting she still held a knife. “Are you spying on me?!” Her hands clenched and only then did she remember the knife in her hand, and then she was shoving it back in her pocket just carefully enough to make sure she didn't hurt herself.  
  
“Uh, yeah, of course,” Harper told her, just flashing her a grin. She pushed lightly against Jasper's back, herding him and the others into the room. “Half a dozen strangers came to see you tonight all at once. That's just strange. I mean, we all know you're good Clarke, but you're not _that_ good.”  
  
“Watch what you say,” she heard Bellamy threaten behind her and Clarke just rolled her eyes. She looked behind her to see Bellamy, Octavia and Miller all with their swords still out, and Monroe in the process of re-sheathing hers. Lincoln's hand was on the hilt of his sword but the weapon itself didn't look like it had been drawn, and the Guard was clearly busy studying the newcomers.  
  
“Put those away,” Clarke ordered before turning back around to glare at her friends without waiting to see if the order would be followed. Her mind buzzed, too much going through it now to be able to really think, and she shook her head to try to clear her thoughts. “You shouldn't, shouldn't be here,” she managed to get out, glaring at the new group as her heart hammered in her chest. She'd prepared herself to come out to these people from her old life and who could help her save the queen, but she'd never once planned on having to explain herself to these friends she'd been living with for so long. “Aren't you all supposed to be working?”  
  
Jasper just let out a scoff, his arms crossing over his chest as he gave her a look. “Aren't you?” he wanted to know, throwing a look at everyone else strewn out around the room. “Either you're having a very busy night or you're up to something.” He nodded to Bellamy, who was just now returning his weapon to his scabbard. “And if you were just in for a busy night, I don't think any of 'em would still be wearing their belts.”  
  
A number of those who'd been in the room flushed slightly at the insinuation, and Octavia and Raven both made faces. Clarke didn't even think to look at any of them, still too busy staring at her friends as her mind continued to whirl.  
  
“What I'm doing doesn't matter,” she snapped, glaring at Jasper. “None of _you_ should be here.”  
  
“Why Clarke?” Maya asked, frowning as her eyes darted across the redhead's face. “What's going on?”  
  
“If something's wrong, let us help,” Monty said, taking a step forward and giving her a little smile, and Clarke's heart squeezed in her chest. She didn't have time to say anything to him because Niylah moved past him, staring steadily at the redhead, and Clarke had to look away from honey brown eyes that always seemed to know more than they should about her.  
  
“Something is happening, Clarke,” she told her, her voice quiet in that way the redhead wanted to hate but never quite could. She reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly against Clarke's wrist before she lightly grabbed her hand, Clarke's own remaining limp. The dark-haired woman almost flinched when she looked up to see Niylah scanning her face and found herself biting her lip to keep it in. “Whatever it is, we're here for you, always. We're family; we protect each other.”  
  
“Though we aren't armed quite as well as your friends here,” Harper joked, glancing at the others in the room who were now just watching the interactions. Her eyes stopped on Monroe and gave her a wink, grinning when the knight returned it, and then she turned her attention back to Clarke. She made her way over to the redhead, throwing an arm over her shoulders. “Still, we're here for you, whatever you need.”  
  
A lump formed in Clarke's throat, making it hard to swallow as she looked at her friends. Her gaze stopped on Luna, The Rig's mistress standing just a little apart from the rest of them and she shook her head. “You could have tried to stop them,” she grumbled, the words only half-hearted, and her mistress just gave her a shrug.  
  
“I could have,” she agreed with a nod, “but I didn't. They're your friends, they deserve to know the truth, and I want to know what's going on.” She shot a look at the others in the room, the corners of her lips pulling down just a bit as she studied them all. “Clearly it must be something big if you've decided to stop hiding.”  
  
“Hiding?” Monty repeated, looking from their mistress to Clarke as Harper pulled back a little, her arm falling back to her side as she gave the redhead a look. “What truth?”  
  
Clarke closed her eyes, trying for a second to shut the world out as a stone rolled in her gut. She knew there was no way around it now, no way to go backwards, and so tried to prepare herself for telling her truth for the third time that day. Letting out a deep breath she opened her eyes again and took a step back, distancing herself from both Niylah and Harper as her friends all stared at her.  
  
“I'm not... not who you think I am,” she began, trying to speak around her heart thumping in her throat. The same sense of fear she'd felt earlier washed through her again, terrified of the looks they would give her when they knew the truth. She'd been lying to them for years now, turning herself into one of them, and she had no idea how they would react when they realized the extent of her lies. “My name isn't Clarke Blake. It's Clarke Griffin.”  
  
They all stared at her, only Maya and Niylah's expressions changing at all. Maya's brow furrowed a little, as though the name were familiar but she couldn't think of why, and Niylah's head tilted a little further back, eyes shifting from her face to those standing behind her. The others just continued to stare at her, all looking as lost as before, and she almost laughed at herself for thinking it would be that easy.  
  
“So?” Jasper said, shrugging his shoulders. “What does that matter? We all knew you were hiding something, who cares about a name?”  
  
“I always figured it wasn't your real name,” Harper agreed, giving a little shrug. “You're so secretive, figured you were hiding from someone. I just thought maybe you'd run away from an angry husband.”  
  
“Or master,” Monty added, nodding along to what Harper had said. “I just thought that's how you learned so much about healing, 'cuz you had to for yourself.” He frowned then, looking past her at the people watching them and suddenly his expression shifted. “Is it one of them?” he asked, hands curling at his sides. Jasper scowled beside his best friend before taking a step forward, hands also curling into fists. “If it is we'll help you, Clarke,” he swore, shooting a glare at everyone with a sword. “We won't let them take you back to someone who hurt you.” His glare ended on Wells, the one closest to Clarke and someone who looked a little familiar, and his eyes narrowed further at him. Wells just met the look, lifting his head a little higher.  
  
“No one here would ever dream about hurting Lady Clarke,” he informed him, his expression carefully calm. “Anyone who wanted to would have to get through me first.”  
  
That made all of their eyes widen, and now Clarke could see something shifting in their expressions.  
  
“Lady...?” Harper asked, now glancing uncertainly between Wells and the redhead, and Clarke nodded stiffly.  
  
“Yes,” she told them. “I didn't run away from an abusive husband or an angry master. My name is Lady Clarke Griffin of the Arkadian Hills. Seven years ago a couple of mercenaries killed my father and tried to kill me, and I've been in hiding ever since.”  
  
She didn't say anything else, just tried not to shift nervously as they all stared at her with wide eyes, only Luna and Niylah not looking thoroughly shocked. Clarke knew that her mistress had known all along who she was, so ignored her and just looked at Niylah. The older woman's brow had furrowed a little as her eyes scanned the redhead's face and Clarke could practically see her putting together all of the many little pieces she'd picked up over the years. Behind Niylah, Jasper and Harper had both gone pale, their jaws dropped open, and Monty and Maya were both frozen. Clarke shifted uncomfortably under all the stares, feeling far too out of place, and that feeling only doubled when Maya slowly dropped into a curtsy.  
  
“M-my lady,” she mumbled, and as though a switch had been flipped the others all followed her, only Luna not dipping into any kind of formal greeting. Even Niylah went down, though she never stopped looking at Clarke while many of the other's quickly dropped their gazes, and something painful flashed deep inside the redhead's chest.  
  
“Stop that,” she told them, wincing a little when she heard the way her voice broke. She reached out and grabbed Niylah's arm, lightly tugging her back up and then quickly went over to Harper and did the same. “Don't, don't do that,” she stammered, not entirely sure why tears had begun to build at the back of her eyes but hurriedly trying to blink them away. “I'm not that person anymore. Whoever I was doesn't matter, I'm just Clarke Blake now, the same person I was a few minutes ago. So please, just stop.”  
  
Slowly the others rose again and as they did she met their looks, trying not to flinch from the way they all seemed to be studying her. She caught Monty's stare and didn't look away from it, held still while the boy's eyes scanned her face, but then he was smiling again and she felt a sudden weight lift a little from her shoulders.  
  
“Don't worry, Clarke,” he said, reaching out and giving her a light hug, “we're still your family. That doesn't change just because of a silly title.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harper agreed, moving up behind them to once again throw an arm over the dark-haired woman's shoulders as Monty pulled back, “you're still you to us.” She flashed Clarke a little smirk and the redhead was already rolling her eyes as she continued, “It is kind of nice to be able to say I've slept with a noblewoman now, though. I think it means I can raise my prices, right?”  
  
“Don't count on it Harper,” Luna stated calmly while Clarke warned at the same time, “Careful Harper.” She could hear shifting behind her and bet that Bellamy and maybe Miller didn't particularly care for the joke. Nevertheless she couldn't quite hold back the way her lips curled up into a small smile as relief flooded through her. The air around them still felt a little awkward but far less than she'd been afraid it would be, and at least none of them were bowing anymore. She wrapped an arm around Harper's waist and pressed a little closer to her, telling her quietly, “I could however give you a couple of tips of what noblewomen like.” She shot Monroe a look across the room, biting back a grin as Harper glanced over in the same direction. “At least what one particular noblewoman likes.” She felt Harper's grip around her shoulders tighten as the blonde gave her a little wink. “You're too good to me, Clarke,” she joked and the redhead just shook her head as she pulled away from the younger woman. She looked over to Maya and Jasper, Jasper's eyes still a little wide but Maya at least was already smiling at her.  
  
“Monty's right,” she told her, “we're family. Nothing changes that.” She elbowed Jasper's side to pull him out of his stupor and he winced, glancing down at her as he began to rub the spot she'd struck.  
  
“Yeah,” he agreed, turning back to Clarke with a grin, “this is definitely weird, but we're all still family.” She looked over to find Niylah nodding, a small smile tucked into the corners of her lips, and Clarke felt warmth flood her chest. Tears burned at her eyes for a whole new reason now, and she carefully blinked them away as the warmth filled her completely.  
  
“Thank you,” she heard herself whisper as she looked at them all, and her friends all just returned it with smiles and nods. She looked past them at Luna, the woman still staring at her, and she nodded before saying, “I still want to know what's going on.”  
  
Clarke let out a sigh but nodded, suddenly feeling absolutely and completely exhausted. The day had been filled with too many emotions to count and she'd barely gotten any sleep the night before, and all at once it began taking its toll on her. Even so she stepped back towards Wells and the others who had been watching the encounters, telling her mistress, “Last night when Wells and I went after Cage Wallace for killing my father, we learned that he's actually part of a conspiracy. Duchess Nia Glace is going to kill the queen in two days so that she can steal the throne.” She gestured to the people behind her. “I brought in some of my friends from Arkadia and people I trusted to stop her.”  
  
“What?” Maya asked softly, horror coloring her expression. Luna's lips pursed into a hard line and The Rig's other workers all stared at Clarke in shock.  
  
“It's true,” Wells stated, stepping up beside Clarke and lightly resting a hand against her shoulder. “The duchess is planning to stage the queen's death at the tournament, and she has members from at least four of the noble houses working for her, as well as at least one person on the Palace Guard. We think she has other spies in the palace working for her too.” He nodded to Clarke, adding, “Clarke's come up with a plan to stop them all, but we needed our friends' help to do it.”  
  
“Which you've got,” Bellamy spoke up behind them, taking a step forward. The others all nodded as he continued, “We're going to make sure the duchess's plan fails.”  
  
“What can we do?” Harper wanted to know, looking from Clarke to the people behind her and the redhead's eyes widened. Before she could say anything Monty piped up, nodding next to Harper as he said, “Yeah, we'll help too.”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Clarke all but growled, already shaking her head before she could even manage to get the word out. The second Harper had spoken her stomach had immediately dropped, her relief from a moment ago instantly turning to fear. “Absolutely not.” Monty and Harper both frowned, surprised by her reaction, and the others just gave her a look. Clarke continued to shake her head, steel in her voice as she told them, “It's too dangerous.”  
  
“Clarke, if they want to help we should let them,” Octavia said, taking a few steps towards her and looking over to the strangers who had clearly become her friend's new family. She'd tried not to be jealous as she watched their interactions, tried not to be anything but happy that at least Clarke had found people to care about her after she'd disappeared, but now that jealousy really did fade away as she looked at them all. These people stood in front of her in little more than robes, not a single weapon between them, but she caught fires burning in their eyes she entirely understood. Looking at Clarke again she nodded behind her at her own group, telling the redhead, “We could use some more help.”  
  
“No,” Clarke repeated, glaring at Octavia. “This could be dangerous, and none of them are fighters.”  
  
“Uh, neither am I but you didn't have any problem dragging me into this,” Raven reminded her, an eyebrow lifting up as she moved to step up beside the other brunette. Clarke winced, knowing she was right, but still mumbled, “It's different, Raven. You grew up around fighters, and you're going to be in the kitchen. This, this isn't their fight.”  
  
“Treason is everybody's fight, Clarke,” Lincoln informed her quietly, and when she looked over at him she wanted to wince again at his expression. He nodded to the newcomers, telling her, “Everyone will be affected if Nia's plan succeeds, not just the nobility and palace staff.”  
  
“He's right,” Maya agreed softly, and Clarke had to bite her lip as she looked back over to her friends. It had never been her intention to drag them into her mess, but clearly that was exactly what was happening. Maya just met her eyes, brow knitting together as she continued, “If we know someone is planning something against the queen, it's our duty to help stop it. We can't just sit back and do nothing.” The others all nodded at that, each giving Clarke a look that told her they wouldn't stop arguing until she gave in, and the redhead blew out a harsh breath, looking up as her mind raced to figure this out.  
  
“Okay,” she finally gave in, desperately trying to come up with a plan that would keep each of them as safe as possible. Monty and Niylah at least were easy, so she looked at the two of them first. “Niylah, you and Monty will be in the kitchens with Raven.” She gestured to the brunette, just remembering to introduce them. Glancing over at Lincoln, she asked the Guard, “Do you think you can get all three of them in the kitchens?”  
  
He nodded. “Absolutely. Like I said, Titus has hired so many new people for the kitchens they should be able to slip in without being noticed.”  
  
She returned his nod and looked back at the two in question. “The duchess has a number of plans in place to kill the queen,” she informed them, “and one of them is through poison. The best place to do that is from the kitchen, so it's entirely likely she's got at least one person in there already.” She looked over at Raven and gestured to Niylah, telling her friend, “Niylah's an expert with herbs and drugs. She'll be able to tell if anyone's added something to a dish that shouldn't be there, and Monty worked in the kitchen here for a few years.” Turning back to Monty and Niylah, she told them, “Raven's mother was one of the head cooks in Arkadia, and Raven spent a lot of time in there with her. She knows how to prepare meals for the nobility and how to get around in a hectic kitchen, so take your cues from her. Between the three of you, I doubt anything suspicious will get out of that kitchen.” All three of them nodded at her, agreeing to their assigned roles, and Clarke turned to Harper.  
  
“Lincoln, has Titus also hired new servers?” she asked, not looking away from her blonde friend, but she caught his nod from the corner of her eyes. “He's hired new everything,” he replied, “the palace is crawling with new servers, hostlers, messengers, maids, everything. It's been a nightmare.” The answer made her feel better about sneaking her friends into the palace, but doubled her concern over how many of these new people might be working for the duchess.  
  
“Harper, you'll go in as a new server,” she decided. “That way you can access the kitchen as well as the rest of the palace. Be on the lookout for anything suspicious, but keep your head down. If you see anything, find Lincoln or Bellamy or Octavia,” she pointed to each of them in turn, “and let them know. I'll put together a few sketches of the people you really need to look out for.” Harper nodded, her expression set, apparently fully committed to her new role.  
  
“What about us, Clarke?” Jasper asked, pulling her attention to him and Maya. “What can we do?” She frowned, biting her lip as her mind raced to try to find the perfect spot for them that would help but also keep them out of as much danger as possible. She was pretty sure neither of them had spent much time around horses so disguising them as hostlers was off the table. Maya might make a good maid if Clarke could teach her the expectations of palace cleaning in one night and Jasper could potentially be a messenger, though she hated to think what would happen if he lost his temper at any of the nobility.  
  
She was still going over the options silently when Lincoln cleared his throat, getting her to look over at him. He was looking from Maya and Jasper to Luna behind them, and then glanced over at Clarke when he felt her eyes on him. Something about the way he shifted made her immediately suspicious, afraid she wasn't going to like whatever it was he said next.  
  
“We still need to come up with a plan for Landen and his men,” he reminded her, his tone carefully even and her suspicions just doubled. “I can have a group of City Guard round them up if we know where they're staying, but like you've already said, if something happens too soon to tip off Nia, the duchess might know something's up. We can't let the mercenaries get to the palace, or the Guard might be outnumbered.” He looked back over to Luna and the other two, saying, “If they were distracted though...”  
  
Clarke realized what he was suggesting and ground her jaw, eyes blazing.  
  
“No way,” she growled, refusing to even consider it. “I'm not going to send them up against a bunch of mercenaries!”  
  
“I don't know Clarke, Lincoln's idea actually sounds pretty good,” Octavia told her, actually sounding a little impressed as she gave the Guard a look, one corner of her mouth slowly curling up. Looking back at an angry redhead, she added, “Think about it; who are the last people Landen would expect to have any problems with?”  
  
“Whores,” Luna answered for her, a slow smile creeping along her expression. It didn't get very big, was really no more than a twitch of her lips, but it burrowed into her eyes. “No one ever expects anything but a good time from a whore.” She thought it over for a moment and then slowly nodded. “I could talk to everyone else in the house, tell them what's going on.”  
  
“You could say that Cage paid for it,” Monroe added, grinning at the thought. “They're not expecting to do anything until the next day, so yeah, why not believe that the lord who hired them to kill a queen also hired whores to keep them entertained until they're needed?”  
  
“Do you even hear yourselves?” Clarke whispered, appalled by it all. It was bad enough she was sending her friends into the palace where Nia and her people were, she couldn't even imagine asking any of them to hand themselves over to a group of mercenaries. “Lincoln, you already told us these people are the worst of the worse, you really expect me to send my friends to them?” A trace of guilt flashed across the Guard's face and Clarke latched onto it, happy at least to see the man knew what he'd suggested was terrible.  
  
To her surprise, Niylah was the next to speak up. “It's a good idea, Clarke,” she insisted quietly, and Clarke gave her a look as though she'd lost her mind. Niylah just continued to meet her eyes, telling her, “We-,” she nodded to Luna, Maya and Jasper, “- _they_ could drug them. I can make more of your lip paint, and we could give it to all of them.” She frowned then, rethinking the suggestion, and shook her head. “No, it's too likely they wouldn't be careful enough with it.” She continued to think, but it was Wells that came up with the next plan.  
  
“Put it in food,” he suggested, “drug them that way.” Clarke looked at him, eyes wide, and he met the look. “Get them the same way Jenson and Bennet got an inn full of people. We won't burn them down, but by the time they wake up the City Guard can be there to arrest them.” He nodded to himself and continued to meet shocked blue eyes that stared at him. “It's a good plan, Clarke.”  
  
“It is,” Luna agreed and then she pointed at Niylah, gesturing for her to go over to her, “and if we're going to have it ready for morning, we need to get to work. Niylah, get everything you would need to drug-” She looked over to Clarke and then Lincoln, asking, “How many mercenaries do we think there are?”  
  
“A couple of dozen, I'd guess,” Lincoln answered and she nodded, turning back to Niylah. “Get everything you would need to drug a couple of dozen people, and meet me in the kitchen. If you don't have enough for that many, give me a list and I'll go out and get it. There's a lot to do before morning.” She looked over at Jasper and Maya, telling them, “You two will be with me, unless there's something else Clarke has planned for you.” They all looked at Clarke who was just standing there staring at them, mind suddenly blank, and Luna just nodded. “Alright. We'll let everyone else keep working or resting for a few more hours, and then close the doors and let them know what's going on. Anyone who wants nothing to do with this will stay here.” She looked over at Clarke, asking, “Do we know where they're staying? I can get a message over to the inn and let them know they can expect company if you do.”  
  
Clarke didn't say anything, just grit her jaw as they all looked over at her, so after a moment Wells answered for her. “We didn't hear,” he said with a shake of his head and Luna shrugged.  
  
“That's fine, they shouldn't be hard to find. With that many they must have bought out wherever it is they're staying. I'll be able to find them.” She glanced back over at Clarke and the younger woman met her eyes. “Don't worry, we won't give away your secret,” she swore, though that was the last thing the redhead cared about at the moment. “If anyone asks how we know about all of this, we'll say you found a letter or something talking about the coup while you were with one of your nobles.” Clarke just continued to stare at her and finally The Rig's mistress just nodded. She turned to leave the room, throwing a look at Niylah over her shoulder. “I'll expect you in the kitchen in a few minutes, Niylah. Then you can get ready to go to the palace with Lincoln.” With that she left, leaving the room without a word to anyone else and Clarke couldn't quite believe what had just happened.  
  
Niylah clearly wasn't as shocked as she was and moved to follow their mistress, but before she could go more than a step or two Clarke's hand lashed out, grasping at her wrist and holding her back. The blonde looked back at her and Clarke just stared, still reeling from everything and unable to get her thoughts straight. “Niylah...” she just managed to get out, barely shaking her head, and the blonde grasped her hand lightly before giving her a little smile.  
  
“It's a good plan, Clarke,” she repeated quietly, lifting an eyebrow at the redhead, and Clarke felt herself nodding slowly. She knew it was, knew it was a great plan, but that didn't keep it from terrifying her. The older woman gave her hand another squeeze and then pulled away, quickly following the mistress from Clarke's room.  
  
Clarke shook her head, desperately trying to get her thoughts back in order, and found herself turning to Jasper and Maya.  
  
“I can stop this,” she told them, her voice a little lower than she necessarily meant it to be. She was sure they could all hear the way her heart was racing in her chest, but didn't look at anyone other than her two friends. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll fight Luna on it.”  
  
“Pfft,” Jasper let out in a scoff, giving her a lazy grin, “what's to worry about? It's just another day for us. It's not like we haven't slept with mercenaries before. If they have coin, what do we care, right?”  
  
“He's right Clarke,” Maya told her, giving her a smile. “Really our job should be the easiest, especially with the drugged food. We'll all just smile and blush like normal, get them all to eat, and then our job will be done.” She frowned, looking over at Harper and Monty. “I'm more worried about all of you. Be careful.” She looked at each of them, ending with Clarke and the redhead met her eyes, trying to swallow down the fear she could still feel cluttering her chest. “You too. I know saving the queen is important, obviously, but you're important to us, Clarke.”  
  
Jasper grinned beside her, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, way more important than some woman always sitting on her throne. If it comes down to you or her Clarke, I'd pick you every time.”  
  
At the words Clarke felt a trickle of something else break through her fear for just a moment. Almost against her will her lips twitched, a grin beginning to tug at them. She looked at Jasper, slightly raising an eyebrow as he continued to grin at her. “I'll tell Lexa you said so,” she joked quietly, her lips pulling up a little further as he frowned, giving her a look.  
  
“What does your noblewoman have to do with any of this?” he asked, and the redhead bit the inside of her cheek as a small flash of amusement crossed her face.  
  
“Your noblewoman?” Raven asked, and Clarke could practically hear the look she was giving her from the tone of her voice without having to turn around and see it. The redhead just gave Jasper a look, her eyebrow rising higher as she told him, “Well, since she is the queen and all, I'd say she has a lot to do with this.”  
  
Jasper blanched, stumbling back a step.  
  
“Lady Lexa is, is the queen?” he stammered, audibly gulping and Clarke just nodded. He thought about the few interactions he'd had with the brunette, one interaction in particular forcibly coming to mind, and he paled. “Yep, I definitely pick the hoard of mercenaries over the palace,” he decided out loud and Clarke shook her head as she bit back a small smile, sure she knew exactly what he was thinking about.  
  
There was shifting behind her and then a few footsteps, and Clarke turned around to see Lincoln standing a little closer to her, an eyebrow up as his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“Someday you're going to have to tell me how these people all seem to know the queen so well,” he stated, giving the younger woman a look that told her his words weren't a suggestion or request. “And how it is you seem to be so familiar with her. I know you two talked at her parties, but this seems a little more... more, to me.” Clarke met his eyes as they scanned her face, not looking away, and almost told him he could ask Anya about it but held the words back. Bringing Anya up might just cause more questions, ones they didn't have time to answer. Instead she shook her head as she took a long silent breath, doing her best to let everything else go as Lexa's face flashed through her mind. As much as she still worried about throwing her friends into what could be a dangerous situation she also knew they were all right; Luna and the others would be the perfect distraction for the mercenaries, and that was what mattered the most if they were going to pull this off. She sent the first of what she imagined would be many silent prayers up to the gods to keep her friends safe and let out the breath she'd been holding.  
  
“Another time, sure, we'll talk,” she told Lincoln, waving him off as she looked back at the others in the room, everyone still watching her. The plan of the night had grown and shifted away from her but now she took it back, standing up a little straighter. “For now we still have to finish planning.”  
  
“Sounds like we all know what we'll be doing, Clarke,” Bellamy told her, nodding to the others around him. “We know who to watch and what to be looking for.” Everyone else nodded in agreement and Clarke mirrored it, her expression settling back into place.  
  
“Good,” she just said. “You all will be on the look out until the audience in the morning. That's when Wells and I will come in.” She looked over at him and watched him give her a nod. “When all of the nobles are together we'll come in and tell the queen what we learned with everyone there to hear it, and that'll be it. The queen will have to decide what to do with the information then and we'll all just go from there.”  
  
It sounded simple, but she knew it would be anything but. She would be putting Lexa on the spot, revealing to her just how far the duchess was willing to go to get what she wanted, and Clarke highly doubted Nia or any of her followers would just give up. More likely she'd have to fight to convince everyone the duchess couldn't be trusted, but it was a fight she wouldn't back down from, not when the cost was Lexa's life.  
  
“Alright,” Octavia said, her fist connecting with the opposite palm, “let's do this. We're not going to let any of them get away with this.” Everyone murmured their agreement and nodded, and Clarke felt a rush of pride fill her chest. They were still outnumbered, but she knew none of her friends would let her down; with them beside her, she knew they could do this.  
  
As everyone began to get ready to leave, murmuring pieces of the plan between themselves, Clarke caught Bellamy's eyes and gestured for him to follow her. He did so, frowning slightly, but said nothing as she led him to the side of her room. She made her way over to the same shelf her lip paint was on and reached out, looking over a few of the jars and satchels there until she found what she was searching for. She grabbed a small leather pouch and then held it out to him, and his frown deepened as he accepted it.  
  
“What's this?” he asked, already opening it to find a few dried herbs inside. He looked at her curiously as she nodded to the bag.  
  
“I need you to sprinkle a little of that into Madi's food tomorrow morning at breakfast,” she informed him. “It'll make her sick, just enough that my mother won't want her to go anywhere for a little while.”  
  
His eyes widened, jaw clenching.  
  
“You want me to poison your sister?” he whispered, the accusation audible in his tone. Her eyes flashed but other than that the only change in her expression came from the way the corners of her lips curled down.  
  
“No, I want you to drug her,” she replied, voice hard. He still stared at her like she'd lost her mind and she let out a small growl. “Bellamy, we both know Nia and the others aren't just going to give up tomorrow when I tell everyone about their plan,” she told him, her tone a little lower than normal. “Everyone knows the punishment for treason, and I don't see the duchess willingly going to the executioner's block, do you?” He just shifted a little and she took that as agreement. “If any of them try to fight back tomorrow after I reveal them, I don't want Madi caught in the crossfire.” Emotions rolled in her gut, too many to name, and her expression just hardened further. “Everything I've done, all of this, I did for her. I left Arkadia so that she would be safe, and I will not do anything that might put her in danger now.”  
  
Even Lexa's safety, as much as it meant to her, came second to her sister's, and she refused to look away as Bellamy studied her carefully. After a long minute he finally nodded, the motion slow and deliberate.  
  
“Okay,” he just said, giving in as he tucked the bag carefully into his pocket. “I'll make sure she stays safe, Clarke. You have my word.”  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured, holding his gaze for another second, and then she let her eyes close as she took in a deep breath.  
  
There: now the plan had been made, she had her own small army on her side, and in the morning the world would know that Clarke Griffin was alive and Nia Glace was a traitor.  
  
As she knew they would, the hours until dawn slowly ticked by, time seeming to stand still as she felt the very air hold its breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now the plans have been made and the plot thickens! Tune in Sunday to see what happens next, and in the meantime if anyone has any questions or would like to talk about this story with me, please feel free to reach out on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Once the plans were all made, the energy in Clarke's room shifted, a buzz filling the air as everyone huddled together in different groups, going over their own parts of the plan. Clarke went over to the little table beside her bed and grabbed a few pieces of parchment from its drawer, along with a piece of charcoal. Quickly she drew sketches of the people they all needed to be looking out for, and as she did so tried to listen to the conversations around her. She could feel various sets of eyes flicking over to her constantly but she didn't look up to meet them, too busy going over the plan in her head. The details played in her mind as she tried to figure out if she'd missed anything, and when she looked up from her drawings and noticed her friends from The Rig huddled together in one corner, realized she had. She added the last few touches to her sketches and then made her way over to them, the pieces of parchment in her hand.  
  
“Monty, Harper,” she said, beckoning to them, and they pealed away from Jasper and Maya to meet her.  
  
“What do you need, Clarke?” Harper asked, but rather than answer immediately the redhead looked around the room again. Seeing Raven talking with Bellamy and Octavia, and Monroe doing the same with Miller, she called to them too. “Raven, Monroe, can you come here?” Both women broke away from their conversations and made their way over to her, looking from their friend to the two already standing with her.  
  
“If you two are going to pass as palace workers, you'll need to look the part,” she informed them, glancing at the robe Harper wore and worn breeches Monty had on. She bit her lip, wondering if they even owned anything that would work, but figured it wouldn't hurt to at least look through their closets. “Monroe, can you go with Harper and check out her closet to see what she has? If she doesn't have any dresses that will work I might have something in my closet, but I'm not sure.” She looked over at Raven, nodding to Monty. “Rae, can you help Monty? You know what would be expected in a kitchen.”  
  
“Got it,” she agreed, flashing the younger woman a grin. She turned that grin on Monty. “Come on, let's see what you've got.”  
  
“Hold on,” Clarke cut in, holding out the drawings to Harper. “Take these with you. You both should look over those until you think you have them memorized, but you need them more, Harp. If you see any of these people, do what you can to keep your eye on them. Discreetly.”  
  
Harper took the papers from her, glancing down at the faces staring back at her, and nodded. “Will do, Clarke,” she told her, even as she handed one of the papers over to Monty. “You know I'm good with faces.” She flashed the older woman a grin and Clarke returned it with a small one of her own. “These faces won't be paying you for anything,” she reminded her and Harper just shrugged, still grinning. “Eh, I'll still make it work.”  
  
Monty and Clarke shared a look, both shaking their heads, but then Monty led Raven out of the room, Monroe and Harper following behind them as Harper began to study the papers she still held.  
  
“If Monty doesn't have anything that will work, I can lend him a shirt and breeches,” she heard and turned around to see Miller behind her. Lincoln was stepping over to her too, nodding as he said, “And once we get to the palace I can find a server's uniform for Harper. She'll need one anyway so she doesn't stand out.”  
  
“Good, and thank you,” Clarke told them, giving them both her own nod. “That should all definitely help.” She paused then, debating whether or not to say anything else, but then heard herself telling them, “And thank you. For coming here and listening to me. Trusting me; neither of you had to, but I appreciate it.”  
  
The corners of Miller's lips rose just a little and he dipped into a short, simple bow.  
  
“You're the Lady of Arkadia,” he reminded her, and she just managed to hold in a wince, “it's my duty to follow you. And my honor.” He scanned her face and she didn't move, meeting his eyes. “It really is good to know you're alive, my lady,” he told her softly. “Your mother and sister have done very well since your father's death, but I think all of Arkadia will be happy to have the true heir back after tomorrow.”  
  
Uncertainty burned in her chest, the discomfort of it almost making her itch, but she just shifted a little, smiling without saying anything. Lincoln stepped in before her silence could get awkward or even really be noticed, and he just nodded to her.  
  
“You're doing all of this for the queen,” he stated and now she met his eyes. “That's all that matters to me. If your plan works, Lexa will owe you her life, which means you'll always have my loyalty.” The intensity of his stare made her shift again, wanting to tell him that Lexa didn't owe her anything, that she cared about the brunette too much to stand back and let anything happen to her, but she didn't. Instead she just flashed him a smile and stepped back, needing to put some distance between herself and their sentiments.  
  
“I'm going to go check on Niylah and Luna,” she said, easing her way over to the door. “Once they're done and Monty and Harper are back, you guys can get them into place.” They just nodded, expressions turning serious again, and Clarke slipped out of the room without another word. In the hallway she took a deep breath, doing her best to steady herself after a day filled with too many tumbling emotions to even try to keep track of. She let that breath out slowly, using it to center herself again, and then straightened up and continued her way down the hall.  
  
She was making her way down the stairs when she saw someone coming up them, and stopped when she recognized Niylah. The older woman looked up and smiled slightly at seeing her, and then continued forward.  
  
“Come with me,” she said quietly and Clarke nodded, letting Niylah gently grab her hand and turn her around to lead her back up the stairs she'd just been going down. The younger woman didn't fight it as Niylah guided them to her room, and once they were inside Clarke closed the door behind them. The blonde made her way over to her closet and Clarke watched her, biting her lip once again. She felt guilty for somehow dragging all of her friends into this but for some reason the thought of dragging Niylah into it was even worse, and that guilt burned its way from her gut to her chest.  
  
“Niylah...” she began and then trailed off, not entirely sure what it was she even wanted to say. The other woman gave her a look over her shoulder, lips twitching, before she turned her attention back to her closet.  
  
“So what does a person wear when they're a cook in a palace?” she asked, obviously just trying to make small talk to help Clarke relax, and it did the trick. The dark-haired woman felt something loosen up a little in her chest and made her way forward, stopping beside her friend to help her pick out an outfit. She scanned her closet for a few seconds, bypassing the many robes, until she found a simple gray dress of decent quality.  
  
“That one,” she decided, reaching in and getting it out for the blonde, and Niylah smiled as she accepted it from her.  
  
“I like your choice,” she agreed, taking it and tossing it on the bed lightly. Clarke turned to get out a pair of hose for her and the other woman undid the tie at her waist, letting the robe she wore fall to the floor.  
  
Clarke didn't bother looking away as Niylah changed; they'd seen each other naked so many times both professionally and recreationally neither found it necessary. Instead she watched as the blonde pulled on the smallclothes and hose Clarke handed to her, catching the way Niylah kept giving her looks and smiles. She waited until she pulled on her dress and then stepped forward, helping to lace her into it, and then moved to the small table by the other woman's bed that was so similar to her own, grabbing the brush she found on top of it. “You'll want to pull your hair back if you're working in the kitchen,” she just said and the blonde nodded before sitting down on her bed. Clarke moved over to sit behind her, and then she slowly and carefully began running the brush through long hair.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she heard herself whisper after another few minutes of silence. Niylah didn't move, just kept staring ahead, and it made the apology easier to get out. “I'm sorry for lying to you for so long. I hope you know I, I didn't want to.”  
  
She couldn't quite tell if that was a lie too, but she didn't shift away as the blonde turned just enough to look at her over her shoulder. Niylah continued to just smile at her, and it pulled at something in Clarke.  
  
“I always knew you had a secret,” she informed her, turning forward again. Once every snarl or tangle had been taken care of Clarke dropped the brush beside her on the bed and began pulling it back into a long braid, making sure to be gentle. “It's nice to know what it was, but it doesn't change anything. I still care for you in the same way as always.”  
  
The words had guilt rising in Clarke's throat in a second, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest. “Niylah, I-”  
  
“I know, Clarke,” her friend cut in, not moving as the redhead continued to twist her hair into the braid. “I'm not expecting you to say anything. I don't want you to say anything. All I want is for you to know that I'll always be here for you, whenever you need me.” Now she did turn a little, flashing Clarke a bare hint of a smile as her warm eyes met the younger woman's. “Who you are and how we feel won't change that.”  
  
Tears built up in the corners of Clarke's eyes and she had to blink them away quickly to keep them from falling. She bit the inside of her cheek as she looked back at the blonde's braid, grabbing a thin piece of leather from her table to tie it off. She let it fall against Niylah's back and then leaned forward, closing her eyes as her forehead leaned against her friend's shoulder.  
  
“I don't deserve you,” she whispered, and then held still as the other woman turned on the bed to face her. Only when she'd stopped did she look up again, eyes opening to meet soft brown that always seemed to know her better than she knew herself. Niylah gently grabbed her chin, lifting her face up until it was level with her own, and told her solemnly, “You deserve whatever you want, Clarke.” The redhead noticed something flash in her eyes and then the corner of her lips twitch. “Even if what you want is the queen.”  
  
Clarke's eyes widened and she pulled back slightly though not enough to pull out of the older woman's soft grip.  
  
“How did you know Lexa is...?” she began to ask but trailed off as one of Niylah's eyebrows rose.  
  
“Give me some credit, Clarke,” she said, letting out a light laugh, “it really wasn't that hard to put together. I always thought she acted a little strange for just a noble, and seeing you tonight with how dead set you are about stopping the duchess's coup...” She shrugged. “Like I said, not that hard to put together.”  
  
Clarke reached up, grabbing Niylah's hand and dragging it away from her face, giving it a little squeeze. “It's not because she's the queen,” she started, brow pulling down slightly as she spoke. “That's not why I... I just don't want you to think that status... It really doesn't matter to me, with her or with, with you. I wouldn't have let that stand in my way if I...” She blew out a harsh breath, frowning as she tried to figure out a way to make her words actually make sense, but Niylah just chuckled. She leaned forward and Clarke's eyes darted to the movement, the nerves that had been fluttering in her chest settling down a little as the blonde placed a light kiss to her cheek, just barely touching the very corner of her mouth.  
  
“I get it, Clarke,” she told her as she pulled back, still smiling. “And I didn't think that was ever what was between us.” Niylah gave a shrug then, gripping her hand just a little tighter. “We can't help who we love. It just is what it is.” She leaned forward a little, making sure she had the other woman's full attention, and then added quietly, “We're still family, and will always be family. Right?”  
  
“Yes,” Clarke agreed softly, her own lips curling up as she returned the pressure against the other woman's hand. “Absolutely. I wouldn't let anyone take that away from us.” Niylah returned her small smile with one of her own, and for a few more seconds they just stared at each other, two women who loved the other in different ways but still ways that mattered and that would never be broken. Clarke felt warmth flooding through her chest and beginning to rise in her throat but she didn't try to run away from it, just let it spread until it was all she felt.  
  
Finally Niylah broke the moment.  
  
“Come on,” she said as she stood up, pulling Clarke off the bed with her. “There's work to do. The others might be waiting for me.”  
  
Clarke nodded but stopped her before she could turn towards the door, scanning her eyes as Niylah looked back at her in surprise.  
  
“Be careful,” she murmured, gripping her hand a little more tightly, “please. Whatever happens tomorrow, please just be careful.”  
  
Niylah studied her right back, her eyes flickering between Clarke's, and then she nodded. “I will be. You be careful too. I doubt the duchess is going to be happy when you tell the queen about what you heard so just... be ready, I guess.”  
  
“Don't worry, Wells will be with me,” the redhead reassured her. “I'll be fine.” One corner of the other woman's mouth pulled up a little further and Clarke just met the look. “I'm sure you will be,” she just said and they took another second to share a smile before Clarke let go of Niylah's hand and finally led them out of the bedroom.  
  
Opening the door to her own bedroom again, Clarke found that Monty, Raven, Monroe and Harper had all returned, and she made her way over to them, carefully eyeing over what Monty and Harper were now wearing. Harper's dress was a dark green, the cut of the bosom just a tad too low to necessarily be considered appropriate for the palace, but she figured it would due until Lincoln could get her the proper uniform. Monty just wore a simple pair of brown breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt, both with a couple of patches on them. Clarke bit her lip, sure that even the kitchen staff would have better quality clothes, but Monty must have noticed the look as soon as it appeared.  
  
“Lord Miller is going to let me borrow a pair of his riding breeches,” he informed her, gesturing to Miller who was now standing just a few steps beside him. Clarke noticed Monty's cheeks had the lightest flush of pink to them, and couldn't tell if it was from the thought of wearing a lord's clothing or something else. He then nodded to Lincoln standing across the room speaking with Bellamy and Octavia. “And the lieutenant said he can get me a better shirt from the laundry at the palace.”  
  
“Good,” she said, giving him a nod, “then I think we're all set.” She looked between Monty and Harper, an anxious fluttering filling her chest, and then moved over to them, pulling them both into a hug. “Be careful, both of you,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she held onto them, feeling them return the pressure. “Just lie low, and keep your eyes open. If you see anything go to Lincoln or Raven or Miller. If a noble tries to talk to you just bow and don't make eye contact. Don't argue with them, just agree to whatever they say, and then find someone in this room if you don't know what to do next.” She held them a little tighter before whispering, “Just stay safe.”  
  
“We will, Clarke,” Monty promised, gripping her arm tightly to reassure her. They all pulled back and he gave her a smile. “No one will even know we're there.”  
  
“Yeah, stop worrying so much,” Harper told her, shooting her a grin. “We'll make this work.” Clarke nodded, hoping they were both right, and pulled them in for one more hug before taking a step back. When she turned she found the others all waiting for her, and her eyes darted to Bellamy, Octavia and Raven. She tried to ignore the looks she found in their eyes but felt a lump already forming in her throat. As though the others in the room sensed it, everyone stepped away from them, giving them some space.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Clarke whispered finally after the four of them had been staring at each other in silence for almost a minute. She wanted to fidget but instead stood still, looking between the three of them. “It wasn't fair, what I put you all through by not coming home. Not to any of you. I'm sorry.” For another long drawn out moment they all kept staring at her and Clarke's heart weighed heavily against her chest at what she found in those stares, but then Raven stepped forward, the corners of her mouth curling up.  
  
“It's okay,” she said, closing the space between them so she could wrap her arms around the redhead, and Clarke unconsciously let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She held her back, gripping tightly against Raven's back, her eyes falling closed. “We get it, Clarke. You had to do what you had to do. It hurt but we get it.”  
  
“It was hard for us, sure, but we know it was even harder for you,” Octavia added, stepping forward when Raven eventually stepped back, taking her spot. Clarke sunk against her just as easily as she had against the other brunette, holding the younger woman close. “We know you would have come back if you could.”  
  
“Mm,” Clarke murmured, forgetting for a second that wasn't entirely true, too lost in the safety and warmth that came from being with some of her best friends again. When Octavia pulled back Bellamy took her place, and the redhead pressed herself tightly against his chest, realizing just how much they all felt like home to her.  
  
“We just missed you,” she heard Bellamy tell her softly, “every day.” He squeezed her a little harder, adding, “So now that you're back, you better be careful tomorrow. I don't think any of us will be able to take losing you again.”  
  
“I will be,” she promised, pulling back enough to look up at him, and then she looked around at all three of them again. “You guys be careful too.” With a final squeeze she pulled back, scanning their faces as she did. The lump grew slightly in her throat and she had to swallow around it before she could get her next words out in a quiet voice. “I missed you. All of you.”  
  
Whether it was her words or just that none of them liked the idea of parting again so soon after they'd finally come back together, they stepped back into a group hug, and again Clarke's eyes closed, trying desperately to draw this moment inside her, hopefully to remember every detail of it. They waited for a few long seconds, not saying anything as they just held onto each other, but then finally they broke apart again and this time they all just shared a nod before forcing themselves to turn back to the rest of the room. The three of them all moved to say a momentary goodbye to Wells who was standing back to give them their space, and Clarke made her way over to the other side of the room where everyone else was waiting.  
  
Monroe shot her a grin when she saw the redhead approaching. “You sure do put together one hell of a battle strategy,” she told her, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe when this is all over the queen should make you one of her generals for her next war.”  
  
Clarke rolled her eyes, lips curling up.  
  
“If this all goes well, all I want is to spend the rest of my life not having to worry about wars or conspiracies,” she said, her tone dry. “After this I'm leaving that for you warriors.” Monroe's grin grew as she stuck out her arm and a moment later the redhead did the same, each clasping the other's forearm. “That's too bad,” Monroe told her, “but I understand. If we pull this off I think you'll deserve a rest.” She gripped Clarke's arm a little tighter as she met her eyes and then pulled away. The redhead gave her another smile before turning to find Miller and Lincoln apparently waiting for her. As soon as she turned Miller bowed, and half a second later Lincoln followed, and that uncomfortable squirmy feeling reappeared in her gut.  
  
“Monroe's right, you've put together a good plan,” the Guardsman informed her, meeting her eyes again as he stood back up. “I'll admit, I'd feel better about all this if I could tell Indra about it, but I understand why you don't want her to know.” His brow rose a little, amusement flashing briefly across his face. “One thing's for sure though, we're all going to have an interesting morning.”  
  
“Very interesting,” Miller agreed, a partial smirk pulling at his mouth. He gestured over to Niylah, Monty and Harper all waiting for them to the side with Maya and Jasper still. “And don't worry my lady, we'll look out for your friends too.”  
  
“Thank you Miller,” Clarke told him, giving him a grateful smile, “I appreciate it.” She looked between them, her expression turning serious again as she continued, “You both be careful too.” They both nodded to her even as Bellamy, Raven, Octavia and Wells made their way over to the larger group, and then Clarke let herself scan over everyone. They all looked back at her, clearly ready to follow her lead, and the realization that this was it, it was time to put their plan into action momentarily overwhelmed her. She met all of their eyes, pride and terror both building in her chest, but she tried not to let any of the many uncertainties she felt swimming around her gut show. Instead she held herself up tall, looking over them before she nodded.  
  
“Okay,” she just said, voice low but loud enough to be heard by everyone, “good luck everyone; time to stop a coup.”

***

The sharp _thwack_ of something hard being struck against something else just managed to be heard over the chaotic sounds of the kitchen, and like just about everyone else Raven looked up from what she was doing to see Cook standing by one of the workers, her foreboding wooden spoon still resting against the counter she'd just struck it against.  
  
“This food we're makin' isn't meant ta be goin' in yer belly!” she bellowed in the voice of someone used to having to shout to be heard. It was a voice Raven instantly respected, and she watched as the girl she was speaking to shrunk back, quickly thrusting her hands down to her side and away from the meat she was roasting. Raven was too far away to see, but she guessed if she were closer she'd be able to see grease on the girl's fingers and possibly around her mouth. “I catch ya samplin' it again I'll put you on that spit, and the nobles can feast on yer hide instead a that deer!”  
  
The girl quickly nodded, eyes looking up at Cook's face and then darting away again, and Raven thought she suddenly looked a little pale though she wasn't sure if that was due to the threat or from having most of the room's attention on her.  
  
“Yes Cook, sorry Cook,” she got out in a rush and then immediately reached up to start tending to the spit again, her gaze staying down as the tough head of the kitchen continued to stare at her. Cook gave a single nod, her spatula leaving the table as her fists moved to her hips, and then she looked around the room. “What're you all lookin' at?” she demanded, and before she'd even continued everyone was hurriedly getting back to their own tasks and hoping she wouldn't single them out. “There's work to do! This food won't prepare itself!”  
  
Raven wiped her forehead with her arm, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up past her elbows. She moved just a beat behind almost everyone else, eyes remaining locked on the formidable woman for just a second longer. When Lincoln brought them to the kitchen only hours earlier he'd introduced her as just Cook, and it hadn't taken more than a few minutes for Raven to see she ruled the kitchen with her wooden spatula and sharp eyes. Somehow she seemed to be everywhere at once, and despite there being more than two dozen people constantly moving around her the brunette was sure she somehow managed to see everything. Cook barked out orders as easily as any captain Raven had ever heard, and after spending her childhood growing up in the chaos of the kitchen she found she had nearly an immediate respect for her. The kitchens at Arkadia only staffed about a fourth as many people as scrambled around this one and was half the size, but even so she knew how quickly everything could go wrong when the person in charge wasn't able to keep things in some semblance of order.  
  
Finally Raven turned her focus back to her work, pounding out pie crusts from the balls of dough in front of her. The dough was tough and firm enough that when she shaped it into a pie the shape held, and then she began filling it with the ground meat and onion mixture in the bowl in front of her. Two other people pounded out crusts beside her, but they filled theirs with berries and slices of apples mixed with cinnamon.  
  
“So how long you two been working here?” she asked randomly, glancing over to them out of the corners of her eyes. They'd made a little small talk ever since Cook assigned her to help them with the pies, but they'd both been too focused on their work to really pay her much attention.  
  
“Been here for near about four years,” Kens, the man on her right informed her. His sleeves were rolled up like hers, and beneath them she could see muscles that bulged, clearly built up after years of moving heavy objects around. He nodded to the girl on her other side, not looking up from his work as he added, “Missy over here was hired along with a few others in the first round of newcomers after the queen's tournament was announced.”  
  
Missy nodded in agreement, looking up from her pie to flash Raven a smile. While Kens was obviously a grown man, his hair just starting to gain a few gray streaks, she didn't look to be much past girlhood with her plump rosy cheeks.  
  
“I'm hopin' they'll keep me on once the tournament's done,” she said, gazing quickly around the room before letting her eyes drop back to her work. “This is good work, and I been enjoyin' doin' it.”  
  
Kens let out a little chuckle, finally looking away from his dough to give them a look out of the corner of his eyes. “If yer thinkin' it's gonna get any easier once we're done with this, don't be,” he informed her before he nodded over to Cook a few counter places away from them. “Cook don't ease up jest cause there's fewer nobles to show off to.”  
  
“I wasn't thinkin' that,” Missy insisted, scowling a little bit at the older man now. “I just like the work, that's all. Plus how many people can say they cooked for the queen?”  
  
Raven made sure to look down at her dough in front of her, very carefully studying Missy out of the corner of her eyes. Everything she could see about her made her seem like a normal girl just excited to be cooking for royalty, but the brunette made sure to memorize her face anyway. She doubted the duchess would hire someone so young to be one of her spies, but maybe that kind of unlikeliness was exactly why she had. As far as Raven knew they could both be spies, one new one and one the duchess had in place for years, and the not knowing for sure wheedled at the brunette beneath her skin. She kept the small talk up for another few minutes, trying to learn as much about them both as she could without looking suspicious, and then once she'd finished filling her pie crust she grabbed it and stepped away, flashing them both a smile.  
  
The pie was delivered to the next set of kitchen workers, a couple of women who would add it to the embers in one of the ovens in the room once there was space for it, and then rather than go back to her spot at the counter Raven kept walking, keeping a sharp eye out for Cook. Monty worked at a table on the other side of the room, also in charge of balls of dough, but his would be cooked into loaves of bread rather than pies. She strolled over to him as though she had every right to be changing work stations, and then leaned her hip against the counter next to him. The shirt Lincoln had found for him was covered in flour, and despite the apron he wore she doubted Miller's breeches would ever be quite the same again.  
  
“How's it going?” she asked, keeping her voice low but casual, looking around them to make sure no one was paying them any attention. She saw him look up at her and then immediately back down to his work, his whole body moving as he rolled the dough in front of him.  
  
“Good,” he answered cheerfully, “I'll have this next loaf ready for Cook in just a few minutes.” His voice lowered then, telling her, “I've seen a couple people I'm not sure about.” He nodded over to a man hauling new bags of flour into the kitchen. “Harris is apparently new last week, but no one knows much about him. I'm waiting for a chance to try to get him to talk to me.”  
  
Raven glanced over the man he had indicated, frowning a little. Even from yards away the man's shirt was clearly tight against his chest, a set of impressive muscles barely even straining under the weight of the large bag.  
  
“Be careful,” she advised, looking him over one more time before turning her attention back to Monty. “He doesn't look like someone you want to mess with if you don't have to.” The boy just gave her a grin, an eyebrow quirking up as a flash of mischief crossed his face.  
  
“Don't worry,” he assured her, “I deal with tougher men than that daily. I know exactly how to stroke their ego to get them to talk.” He winked at her and Raven felt the corners of her lips twitch, amused and impressed all at once. “Alright,” she just said, slapping him lightly on the back, “well then you have your fun and see what you can find out. I've got a couple I'm trying to figure out too.”  
  
“Good luck,” he told her and she gave him a nod, quickly stepping away when she noticed Cook beginning to move in their direction. She slipped away by cutting by a group of people hurriedly chopping vegetables and another pair plucking a couple of pheasants, and then made her way to the side of the room where five large pots hung over their own individual fires, each being seen to by a different person. Niylah stood by the pot in the center, slowly stirring some kind of stew, and Raven didn't stop until she was standing beside her.  
  
The brunette leaned over the pot in front of the other woman, taking a long dramatic whiff of the stew.  
  
“Something smells great!” she exclaimed, grinning over at the blonde, and Niylah just gave her a nod, not looking away from what she was busy staring at. Raven followed her line of sight to three women arranging jugs of wine, one of them animatedly gesturing to show how she thought they should be set up.  
  
“See something you like?” Raven asked as a joke, but even as she asked it she made sure to take a step closer so that they could talk with less chance anyone would overhear them.  
  
“The woman in the dark skirt and gray shirt,” Niylah said quietly, nodding towards one of the women following the orders of the animated woman. “Her name's Echo. She's one of Nia's spies.”  
  
Raven's brow rose and she looked at the woman more closely. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back out of her face with a few braids woven throughout it, and she glanced around the room a bit as she worked with the other two with her, but other than that Raven couldn't see anything to indicate for sure she was working for the duchess. “What makes you so sure?” she asked, keeping her voice almost at a whisper, and again Niylah nodded towards her.  
  
“See how loose her shirt is?” she said and Raven frowned, taking another look over. “She's got at least one knife strapped to each arm beneath it. Every now and then when she moves you can see the imprint against the fabric.” She tore her focus away from the supposed spy, looking back at Raven. “Believe me, I've spent enough time with people not quite honest enough to carry their knives in plain sight, I can see the signs. She also keeps scanning the room as though she's looking for something, or maybe like she's making sure she isn't being watched. Plus she's from Azgeda.” She gestured to a young man at the far end of the line of pots. “He told me she was hired at the beginning of the summer. My guess is she came with Nia, and the duchess got her in here even before the queen decided to have the tournament.”  
  
As she spoke Raven stared at the woman in question, her eyes narrowing a little. Everything Niylah was saying made sense but it itched at her that they had no way to prove it. Even so she decided it would be a good idea to keep an eye on her, just to be safe. She was about to say as much to the blonde when she noticed Echo pouring wine from one of the jugs into a pitcher, and then placing that pitcher on a tray with a few goblets. Someone else added a bowl of grapes, berries and a few apples to the tray, and then Echo picked the whole thing up and began to walk away with it.  
  
Niylah saw the same thing she did and quickly turned to her neighbor on the right of her, flashing her an innocent smile.  
  
“Where's she going with that?” she asked, nodding over to the blonde walking away from her station, and the older woman followed the motion with her eyes.  
  
“Must be time for the queen's meeting,” she stated, her tone bored even as her focus dropped back to her own pot. “They always take her and whoever she's meeting with a tray of something.”  
  
Niylah and Raven exchanged a look, a silent conversation quickly going between them, and then Raven stepped away, moving quickly as she passed people working at tables or stoking fires. Her eyes never left Echo, the woman walking casually down an aisle across from her, and she quickened her pace to try to cut her off. She highly doubted the spy would have done anything to the food or drink to affect the queen now when Clarke had said the duchess's plans were all for the next day, but she wasn't willing to take that chance. She managed to pass the other woman and then turn around the end of a table, pretending to look elsewhere as Echo now came straight towards her. Raven waited until the last moment and then took a step to the side, instantly crashing into the other woman. The tray she'd been holding slipped from her hands, the bowl of fruit spilling to the floor while the goblets crashed beside it, and the pitcher smashed between them, red wine splashing up to stain both of their shirts.  
  
“Oh gods, I am so sorry!” Raven cried, covering her mouth as she pretended to be in total shock of what just happened. She grabbed a towel hanging off of the side of a table nearby, frantically trying to wipe at the woman's chest to sop up as much of the spilled wine as she could. As she went she made sure to blather on, crying, “Really, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, wasn't watching what I was doing...” She purposefully patted at Echo's arms and only then did the other woman step away from her, but not before she managed to feel something hard against her forearms. The blonde's jaw was clenched tightly, anger briefly flashing at the back of her eyes, before she stood up tall and grabbed the towel from her.  
  
“You should watch where you're going,” she snapped, now patting herself down with the towel. “That was supposed to be for the queen.” Raven made her eyes get wider, pretending to act shocked and scared, but inwardly she praised herself for a job well done.  
  
“Everyone get back to work,” a thundering voice shouted behind her, and Raven really did almost jump at its sudden appearance. Countless sets of eyes had been staring at her from the moment the tray crashed to the floor but now all at once the sounds of people working grew again as Raven turned to find Cook standing behind her, her eyes blazing. “Yazmin, get another tray prepared for Her Majesty and her guests,” she called out, and the woman who had been directing Echo a moment ago quickly did as she was ordered. “I'll take it to 'em. I need to let the queen know how we're lookin' anyhow. Echo, get yerself cleaned up and then you can take our friend's spot makin' the pies. And you.” She shot Raven a murderous look and the brunette cowered appropriately, glancing away from the fearsome woman and then quickly back again. “You can help haul in the grain bags. Drop even one of 'em and I'll make sure you regret it.”  
  
Raven's wince from the position change wasn't fake: the second the words came from the woman's mouth she felt a phantom ache grow in her thigh, and she knew it would now just be a matter of time until the ache became all too real. She used to help carry in the grain and flour bags for the kitchen at home in Arkadia, but Abby hadn't let her lift anything that heavy since the accident. Rather than say anything though she just stood up a little taller and gave Cook a nod, waiting until the older woman gestured for her to go to move. At least now she might have a chance to learn more about Harris, the man Monty thought might be a spy, and she wouldn't have to work at those stupid pies anymore.  
  
Her thigh began to protest with the first bag she lifted, but she just ignored it, happy enough she'd been able to keep the known spy from going anywhere near the queen to let it get to her. She fell into line behind Harris and a smirk began to tug at her lips, shooting Monty a wink as she walked by his table.  
  
She loved it when a quickly laid plan worked out so well. 

***

Octavia's finger tapped incessantly against the hilt of her sword as she stared down at the closed door at the end of the hallway. She kept having to shift from one foot to the other, and when that wasn't enough she let herself pace back and forth just a few steps, eyes constantly drawing back to the door. The back of her neck tingled, her palms itched, and every instinct in her body told her to go break it down, but she just managed to hold herself back.  
  
One thing anyone who'd ever spent more than a few minutes with her knew about Octavia: she had never been a patient person. When there was a problem to fix or a threat to locate, she believed fully in moving first and questioning later, so this waiting around was really beginning to take it's toll on her. She'd promised Clarke she would follow the plan though, and that was exactly what she planned to do.  
  
“Octavia,” she heard behind her as various sets of footsteps approached her, and she turned around to see the Captain of the Palace Guard leading a party of six Guardsmen down the hall. Indra looked her over in that succinct way she had and almost subconsciously the younger woman felt herself straightening up, her head lifting a little higher as she met the woman's eyes.  
  
“Captain Indra,” she greeted back formally, giving the woman a respectful nod as she and her party stopped just in front of her. She saw Lincoln standing behind the captain but didn't let herself look at him, instead making sure to give the older woman her full attention.  
  
“You were missed at training,” Indra informed her, an unreadable look in her expression that almost had the brunette flinching but she just managed to remain still. Out of a respect that had been quickly earned almost as soon as she'd arrived at the palace, Octavia bent into a slight bow to the older woman, telling her, “My apologies Captain, I wish I could have been there but my lady needed my help with something this morning. I hope you'll forgive me and will let me join you tomorrow.” She tried to ignore the voice at the back of her mind that whispered there very well may not be any training the next day depending on how the rest of the morning went.  
  
Indra's eyes narrowed slightly as they scanned her over and Octavia held still, very careful not to let anything about her demeanor or expression change. She'd learned through her training with the Guard that the captain could pick up on a falsehood through just the slightest twitch of the eye, and lying had never exactly been one of Octavia's strong suits. The way Indra looked at her made her sure she could tell something was wrong but after another moment of studying her the older woman just nodded.  
  
“We'll see you then,” she just said, giving the brunette a nod. She then gestured to the Guardsmen behind her and kept walking, everyone but Lincoln following her as she continued down the hall and around a corner out of sight. For his part Lincoln just let them go, not taking his eyes off of Octavia.  
  
“How is it going?” he asked her, keeping his voice down low. The brunette took a quick look around them, seeing that at least for the moment they were alone, and then gave him a shrug.  
  
“Good, I guess,” she said before gesturing to the door she'd been staring at before the Guard had arrived. “I followed Jaha here, now he's in there talking to Kane about something.” She frowned, looking back over at the door and heard herself add quietly, “I'm just hoping he doesn't have anything to do with this too. Abby's already going to have a hard time when she finds out about Jaha and Sydney. If Kane's in on it too I don't know if she'll be able to handle it.”  
  
Lincoln followed her line of sight to the door, his lips pursing for a moment before saying, “Whoever is a part of this, we'll get them. No one will be getting away with this.” Octavia nodded, brow furrowing, but then she looked back at him and the expression wiped away as she studied him. “What about you?” she wanted to know, “How are you doing?”  
  
“I've been keeping my eye on Tristan as much as I can,” he replied, the look on his face darkening at the traitor's name. “It's taken all of my self-control to keep from arresting him on the spot.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” Octavia muttered and the corners of his mouth twitched, brow raising just a hair before he shook his head and continued. “I'll be checking in with Raven, Monty and Niylah shortly to see if they've found anything.”  
  
“Bellamy came by a little while ago,” she informed him, “he's been with Abby and Madi most of the morning, but he said he saw Harper earlier and checked in with her. We should probably find her again though, make sure she's not lost somewhere.”  
  
“Good idea,” Lincoln agreed, “the palace is a maze if you don't know how to navigate it. I-” Before he could continue they heard footsteps from the far end of the hall and Octavia grabbed his shirt, pulling him a little closer before she even really knew what she was doing. She was glancing around for somewhere to hide when he suddenly leaned down, and without any other warning his lips were pressing against hers and her mind went completely and totally blank. She stood completely immobilized for a second and then her arms were twining around his neck and she was pulling him closer, deepening the kiss without a second thought.  
  
“Take it somewhere else,” a voice interrupted them, far closer than Octavia expected, and she nearly jumped back, though Lincoln's hands at her waist didn't allow her to go too far. She looked over to see a woman standing in front of them, a duster in one hand with a bucket of water in the other and rags hanging over her arm. One of the woman's eyebrows was raised, giving them both a look, and Octavia found herself saying dumbly, “Ex-excuse me?” The servant just pointed between them to a room they stood in front of, and for a brief second Octavia wondered why they hadn't just thought to hide in there though she was entirely thrilled they hadn't.  
  
“I gotta clean,” the woman said, gesturing to the room, “and yer in my way. Take it somewhere else.”  
  
“Sorry,” Lincoln replied, grabbing Octavia's hand and pulling her away from the room, and the woman didn't even bother to give them another look before making her way into the room. He kept pulling her until they were far enough away they wouldn't be overheard, and then when he stopped he dropped Octavia's hand and instantly the brunette missed the touch.  
  
“Sorry,” he said again, and she was glad at least to see his cheeks heat up a little bit, probably much in the same way she could feel her own doing. “It was all I could think of.”  
  
“No, no it was fine,” she stammered, mind still hurrying to catch up as it reeled from the way her entire body had reacted to the kiss. “Better, even. It was great. I like the way you think.” She felt her cheeks flush a little darker as she finished, realizing how that sounded, but then felt herself mentally shrug. Her lips pulled back into something resembling a grin, meeting his eyes as she added, “I really like the way you think. When this is all over maybe we could do that again.” She held her breath for a second as he stared at her, worried maybe she'd gone a little too far, but then he was returning her grin with a smile of his own and her heart somersaulted.  
  
“I'd like that,” he agreed. “A lot.” He held her stare for a long moment and then let out a deep breath, standing up a little straighter again. “But first we get through the next hour or two. Have you seen Miller at all? Or Monroe?”  
  
Just like that they were back to business, and Octavia shook off any lingering effects still clouding her mind from the kiss.  
  
“I saw Miller,” she told him with a nod. “Abby had breakfast with all the Arkadian nobility this morning, including Miller. From what I could tell he followed Sydney when she left. I haven't seen Monroe since we all split up though.”  
  
Lincoln nodded, looking like he was about to say something, but before he could a door nearby swung open and Jaha and Kane walked into the hall. It sounded like they were arguing amicably about something but Octavia didn't quite get what as they turned and noticed the brunette and Guardsman. To both her relief and disappointment this time she and Lincoln stayed apart, neither trying to hide anything with another kiss, and they both turned as the two noblemen approached them.  
  
“Octavia,” Kane greeted with a smile and then looked over at the man standing with her. “And Lieutenant Lincoln; it's good to see you both. How was your training this morning?”  
  
“As good a use of time as ever, my lord,” Lincoln informed him, giving them both a respectful bow, and Octavia was impressed he was able to do so with an entirely straight face. She didn't bow, neither of the men expecting it considering how close she was with Abby, and then added on, “It was good, Lord Kane; I've been able to learn a lot from the Guard.”  
  
They might as well think she was there just like every morning if they didn't know otherwise; anything to make the day seem less suspicious could only help them in their plan.  
  
Jaha raised an eyebrow, giving her a thin smile, one she made sure not to react to no matter how much she wanted to rip it off his face.  
  
“I imagine you'll be sad to leave Polis when we go back to Arkadia,” he stated, and she let herself shrug at that.  
  
“Arkadia's my home, but yeah, I'll miss pieces of Polis,” she replied, purposefully not looking at Lincoln. They had far too much to do still for her to start thinking about when she'd have to leave him, and even just the idea of doing so had a hole opening up in her gut she had to ignore.  
  
“It truly is an extraordinary place,” Kane agreed, smiling as his eyes flickered around the hallway, taking in everything around him. He shook his head as though he needed to clear his mind then, and looked back at the two of them. “We're making our way to the Great Hall,” he told them. “The audiences will be starting before too long. Would you two like to join us?”  
  
Lincoln gave another small bow. “I would love to my lord, but unfortunately I have some work I need to see to. If you will all excuse me?” He looked at all of them, ending with Octavia, and although he managed to keep a calm expression on his face she could see something burning in his eyes, a silent message for her. She nodded, looking as though she were just seeing him off, but in reality knowing he was going to check on the rest of their team. With a final nod to all of them he turned around and began walking away, and Octavia tore her eyes away from him as Kane flashed her another smile.  
  
“Looks like it's just us,” he said, and then gestured down the hallway. “Shall we?”  
  
“Sounds good, my lord,” Octavia agreed, and then she fell into step with the two lords. They continued to bicker lightly over some book she didn't know about, apparently the subject they'd been arguing about when they emerged from the library, and she just listened carefully. Their words didn't mean much to her but she wondered if they meant more than what was actually being said, and again found herself wondering if Kane could be trusted or not. She did her best to keep her thoughts from her face as she listened.  
  
Making their way into the Great Hall, Octavia wasn't surprised to see a handful of people already there, and had to hold back a grin when she saw Monroe was one of them. The knight stood off to the side with a couple of other young nobles, but when she saw Octavia she gave a subtle nod and then looked away. The brunette followed her gaze to another small group and found Myers and Illen Collins speaking with a minor lord from the Delphi Fjords. A tight ball of anger formed in her gut just at the sight of them but she managed to keep it hidden from anyone else.  
  
Octavia hung back as the two Arkadian nobles began to mingle with the other people present, both so she could just observe and to appear normal. She tried not to stare too blatantly at Jaha or either of the Glowing Forest nobles but had to keep reminding herself to look away and pretend not to have any special interest in them. It was harder than she wanted it to be, but any time she caught herself staring for too long she would quickly look away, trying to appear as though she were simply taking in the room.  
  
“Can I offer you a drink?” a voice asked her and she turned around, eyes widening slightly when she found Harper standing just behind her shoulder and holding a tray of watered down wine and goblets. Quickly she schooled her expression, biting the inside of her cheek to get control of her surprise, and then she turned and acted as though she were picking over the cups.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked, tone so low even she almost didn't hear the words. Harper just gave her a cheeky grin, holding the tray up with one hand and grabbing the pitcher of wine with the other.  
  
“Serving, of course,” she replied lightly, and then her tone dropped as well as she poured a small splash of the wine into Octavia's cup. “I was having a hard time remembering where I was, and then I saw a few nobles gathering here, so.” She shrugged. “Figured this was the best place for me. I can blend in and eavesdrop all at once.” She gave the brunette a wink and set the pitcher back on her tray, her voice rising again a little the next time she spoke. “You just wave me down if you need another drink, Mistress.” Octavia shook her head but felt her lips curl up into a small grin and then she nodded. Harper returned the nod and then continued on to the next person, offering up her drink with a smile and friendly word, and if any of the nobles thought it was strange this server actually bothered trying to talk to them they didn't say anything.  
  
Octavia had finished her drink and scanned the room at least a dozen times when her eyes were drawn to the side as another small party entered the hall. Abby and Bellamy made their way over to her and the brunette frowned at the way the lady's brow was knitted together.  
  
“Abby, what's wrong?” she asked, heart beginning to beat a little faster in her chest. Part of her feared maybe she somehow knew what was happening, maybe Bellamy had broken and told her that Clarke was alive, but even as the thought crossed her mind she knew it couldn't be right. Abby would look far more than just a little worried if she had any idea about even just some of what was going on, but even so anxiety churned at Octavia's stomach.  
  
“It's nothing Octavia, I'm just a little worried about Madi,” the lady answered, too distracted to even really look at the brunette. “She got sick a little while ago and now she's resting. I'm sure it's nothing but...” She gave a small shrug, the corners of her mouth twitching into a brief smile, “you know how I worry.”  
  
The brunette quickly looked over at Bellamy, eyes widening just a little as fear began to grip her insides but her brother gave her a small, inconspicuous shake of his head. Apparently Madi's sudden illness wasn't something he was worried about, so after a moment of studying him she gave an almost imperceptible nod. Luckily Abby was too distracted to notice the small interaction.  
  
“Don't worry Abby, I'm sure she's fine,” Bellamy told her, lightly gripping her shoulder. “Something at breakfast probably just didn't agree with her. She'll probably be up and moving again by this afternoon.”  
  
“I hope so,” Abby replied with a shake of her head. “She's been looking forward to the tournament tomorrow for weeks, I would hate to tell her she has to miss it for any reason.”  
  
“Lady Abby!” they heard called, and all turned to see Kane approaching them, that same near-constant smile on his lips. He made his way over to them and then lightly cupped the woman's elbow. “Lord Nyko was just telling me and Thelonius about the healing he's learned to do. I'm sure you would be very interested in it too...” He smiled at the siblings and then guided the woman away from them and over to where Jaha stood with the lord of the Blue Cliffs.  
  
“Are you sure Madi's alright?” Octavia asked, just managing to keep the words under her breath as she shot a look up at her brother. He just nodded at her, already scanning the room. “Yeah, trust me O, she's fine. It's part of Cl-... It's part of the plan.” She studied him for another second and then nodded, deciding to let it go. If it's what Clarke wanted then there must be a reason for it.  
  
With everyone else in the room ignoring them, the siblings let themselves glance over the people who were present. More than just Abby had arrived since Octavia showed up, and now a couple dozen nobles mingled in front of her, their numbers increasing every few minutes as more and more people arrived for the audience. Miller and his father walked by and he gave them a subtle nod when Octavia made eye contact with him, and then she looked over to see Monroe accepting a drink from Harper's tray. She was pretty sure they were talking about something but was too far away to know what it could be, and the whole interaction lasted no more than maybe a minute so couldn't be considered suspicious if anyone else had seen it. Along the sides of the room servants and soldiers were gathering, the servants there in case any of the nobles might need anything and the soldiers a mixture of Palace Guard and a few fighters from various houses. They weren't a surprise, the nobles always having at least a few soldiers with them whenever they made their way to the palace and now just waiting for when their lords and ladies would need them again, but seeing so many people with weapons strapped to their waists made Octavia's palms itch.  
  
She was about to locate Abby again when she felt her brother stiffen beside her and Octavia glanced over at him. His eyes had narrowed as he stared at something, and she followed the look until she found Cage Wallace chatting with a small group of lords and ladies. In an instant hate and fury scorched through her chest and Octavia's hand hovered over her sword but she just managed to hold herself back from drawing it. She could see her brother's hand slowly reaching for his own as he stared at the Mount Weather heir so she quickly grabbed it, shoving it away from his weapon.  
  
“Not yet,” she whispered quickly, sending him a look out of the corner of her eye. “We can't blow this.”  
  
Bellamy's jaw clenched, the muscles in his jaw bulging for just a second before he made himself relax, his hands dropping carefully to his sides.  
  
“I know,” he muttered, making sure to keep his voice down. He looked around the room again and then said, “I'd really just like to get this thing going.” Octavia nodded, entirely in agreement, and forced herself to take a deep breath.  
  
Soon. They only had to be patient a little longer. 

***

Back at The Rig, Clarke stared into a large basin of water. She'd managed to lug it all the way up the stairs and into her room, but now that it was sitting in front f her all she could do was stare at it. Three small clay jars sat on a little table beside it, their toppers already removed to show the oils and soap inside them, but Clarke couldn't make herself move. She stared at the barely recognizable reflection looking back at her, its edges blurred and colors distorted, and didn't fight the way nerves fluttered anxiously in her chest.  
  
“It'll be easier if you cut it first,” she heard someone say over her shoulder, instantly recognizing Luna's voice. She'd heard the door open but hadn't bothered to look over, and even now she couldn't make herself turn. She didn't say anything to the older woman, just continued to stare, and after a second the mistress continued talking. “I found where they're all staying. The lord you're after bought out the Magpie for them. I sent Charlotte with a message to Ox to let him know I'd be coming by with a group of workers for his guests this morning. We'll be leaving soon.” Clarke gave a subconscious nod, the words barely even meaning anything to her, and after another moment she heard the door close before footsteps made their way into the room. Luna crouched down beside her, looking her over for a second and then asked quietly, “What are you thinking?”  
  
“If I do this, I don't have a choice,” Clarke somehow got out, her voice suddenly not quite sounding like it was her own, “I have to go back.”  
  
“Did you ever really have a choice?” the woman who had played as her mistress asked beside her, voice still soft. “Did you really think you wouldn't end up going back?”  
  
Clarke opened her mouth to answer and then closed it. She bit her lip and then began shaking her head.  
  
“I'm not the same person they're going to be expecting,” she whispered. “If this works, they'll be expecting Lady Clarke Griffin and I don't... I don't know if I can be her anymore. She's a stranger to me now.”  
  
Luna let the silence draw out between them for a few seconds, let the younger woman sink a little in her own fears and then reminded her, “You've always been Clarke Griffin, you just had to show Clarke Blake's face. Underneath it all you were always still yourself.”  
  
“No I wasn't,” Clarke told her, and then her brow furrowed. “Not entirely, at least. There are things I did that Clarke Griffin never could have done. Decisions I made that she never would have agreed with.” Luna thought the words over and then shrugged.  
  
“Then you're stronger than Clarke Griffin was,” she decided. “And you'll be taking that strength back with you. Griffin and Blake, they don't have to be two different people. They aren't. It's all just you.” The younger woman frowned, clearly no happier, and Luna lifted an eyebrow at her. “Tell me: could Clarke Griffin have organized a rescue party to stop a conspiracy and save a queen all within twenty-four hours?”  
  
Clarke considered it, thinking back on the person she had been before the fire and then slowly shook her head. No, back then she wouldn't have been able to stop long enough to truly think a plan through; more likely she would have gone with whatever her first instinct was and probably would have gotten herself and anyone with her killed. Her time as Clarke Blake had taught her how to disassociate, to pull herself out of the problem in front of her long enough to find a way around it, something Clarke Griffin never could have done.  
  
Luna nodded once, rocking back a little on her heels. “Then from what I can see, we are all lucky you're no longer just Clarke Griffin. If you were then we'd have a new queen tomorrow and your Lexa would only have another day or so to live.”  
  
The thought made the younger woman grit her jaw, her fingers curling into fists. The words were all the reminder she needed of why she was really doing this, why she was choosing to breathe new life into a girl who had died so long ago, and she felt herself straighten a little bit. She reached into her pocket and drew out her knife, handing it out to the woman and finally looking over to her.  
  
“Could you cut it for me?” she just asked, meeting Luna's eyes, and she caught the way her lips slowly curled into a grin before she accepted the knife.  
  
Clarke held still as the older woman hacked away at her hair, her eyes closed as she listened to the blade slice through large handfuls of it at a time. She could feel fistfuls of it fall into her lap and individual strands tickle at her neck, but she didn't open her eyes again until Luna was pulling away. When she did she looked down, finding dark red hair scattered on the floor around her and sticking to the dress she wore. What was left of her hair now ended just above her shoulders, far shorter than she could ever remember it being, and somehow she knew this was her embracing a new Clarke, this strange combination of who she'd been and who she now was that Luna seemed to believe she could be. The older woman stood up, moving over to her bed and dropping the knife on its surface, and when Clarke turned to look at her she found her smile was gone and her expression was once again nearly impossible to read.  
  
“We're leaving soon,” she reminded her, nodding to the door. “I just wanted to let you know.”  
  
“Thank you, Luna,” Clarke told her, making sure it all showed in her face as she looked up at one of the two people who had helped her the most over the past few years. “Really. Thank you. What you did for me...”  
  
Luna was shaking her head before she could even trail off. “Don't,” she just said, giving the younger woman a look, “that's not what we do. If I wanted thanks I would have asked for it long ago.” Clarke felt a lump rise in her throat even as she smiled, giving the other woman a single nod.  
  
“I know,” she said, doing her best to control her tone, “and you're right.” She stared up at Luna for another few seconds, hoping that she understood just how much all she'd done for her meant to Clarke, and then she cleared her throat. “I shouldn't take too long to be done in here,” she continued, turning her focus back to the water. “I should be down before you have to head out.” She could see Luna nod out of the corner of her eye and then she was leaving, pulling Clarke's door closed again behind her.  
  
Now Clarke didn't hesitate; as soon as she was alone again she dunked her head into the basin, soaking what was left of her hair before she reached over and grabbed the first jar of oil beside her. She helped herself to a generous amount and then lathered it into her hair, beginning to work the color out of it. It took almost half the jar of both oils and the soap, but finally the water was a murky reddish-brown and her hair was once again fading back to its original blonde, only the very roots and ends still having any kind of red tint to them. When she decided it was good enough she pulled back away from the basin, rubbing at the cramp in her neck from having been bent over it for so long, and then grabbed the old towel she'd stolen from the kitchen as well. Quickly she ran the towel over her hair and squeezed the short ends until it was at least no longer dripping.  
  
With the work on her hair done, Clarke stripped out of the dress she'd been wearing, letting it fall to the floor. She grabbed the pair of dark breeches she'd taken out of her closet and tossed to her bed earlier and pulled them on, followed quickly by the white linen shirt that had been lying beside it. It was hardly the nicest outfit she'd ever worn, and certainly not something one would expect for a trip to the palace, but if she was going back as Clarke Griffin she refused to do it in a dress that might hinder her movement. Next she grabbed the belt laid out on the bed and hooked it around her waist, adding her knife to its spot and then following it with her father's sword. As she snapped it into place she felt a rush of confidence run through her, and wrapped her fingers around the pendant hanging as always around her neck.  
  
She had done everything she could to get revenge for her father, and over the next hour or so she would see if it had been enough.  
  
Dressed and as prepared as she would ever be, Clarke left the bedroom for what she knew would be the last time. She didn't look back as she made her way down the hall to the stairs, letting out a silent breath as she tried to get settled in this new skin she felt she wore. It felt a lot like trying on a new dress for the first time, stiff in places and tight in others, but with every step she took she could feel this new sense of self slowly settling into place, morphing and shifting as needed. By the time she made it to the bottom floor of The Rig her head was held high, her back straight, and one hand rested easily on the hilt of her sword. Perhaps she didn't quite know who she was anymore, but she knew who she needed to be in order to get through the rest of the morning.  
  
Wells was waiting for her in the front room, standing patiently by the front desk as he carefully looked straight ahead, trying not to look at any of the people waiting in the room with him. More than a dozen young men and women stood around, the three or four men not wearing any shirts and the women all in dresses cut far too short to even begin to be considered appropriate. These were some of the people who had volunteered to help when Luna told them of the note Clarke had found in a nobleman's room, and it filled her chest with a strange mixture of pride and fear to see so many familiar faces standing there. Most of them seemed relaxed, joking and laughing with their friends, and she wished she could feel as confident about this plan as they did.  
  
Jasper and Maya were among those waiting, and when they noticed Clarke walk into the room Jasper put his pinkies to his lips and let out a long whistle, drawing everyone's attention first to him and then to her.  
  
“Looks like someone's decided she's had enough with the red,” he joked loudly, giving her a wink.  
  
“You're breaking my heart,” someone said, and Clarke had to look around a little before she saw Lania among those waiting. The natural redhead let out an exaggerated sigh, saying, “You left me Clarke, just like that!”  
  
“'Bout time you stopped painting your hair like that,” Petrin, another worker in the room, joked, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “Customers like the blonde too much to bother changing it.”  
  
Clarke shook her head, tossing both women a grin, and then made her way over to where Wells, Maya and Jasper stood by the desk. Jasper was still giving her a silly grin, Wells stood a little taller as she approached, and Maya's smile was nothing but sweet as she met the newly made blonde's eyes. “You look really good, Clarke,” she told her, her voice as genuine as her smile. “Really really good. None of them are going to know what to do.”  
  
“That's true, though I don't think my looks are going to have anything to do with it,” she muttered quietly, the words almost under her breath, and Maya and Jasper both just continued to smile at her. Her expression softened as she looked between them, telling them, “Thank you again, both of you. For what you're doing and for... well, for everything.”  
  
Maya reached out, grabbing her hand and giving it a little squeeze. “Don't worry about it, Clarke,” she said, “we all do whatever we can for each other.” A teasing glint flashed in her eye before she added, “Just don't forget about us little people when you're back where you belong. We'll miss you too much to never see you.” Clarke squeezed her hand right back, not looking away from her eyes as she promised, “Believe me Maya, I could never forget any of you, and I won't. We'll still see each other, I'll make sure of it.”  
  
Jasper's grin grew, an eyebrow ticking up as he said, “Think about all you'll be able to do. It'll be nice having a friend who's a-” He grunted in pain before he could say anything else, and though Wells's expression didn't change it was clear from the way Jasper winced and shifted his weight that the big man must have stepped on his foot, and likely not too gently. The boy glared over at the young lord and Clarke hid a smile behind her hand, pretending to push a strand of hair away from her face when Jasper looked back over at her. “It'll still be nice having you as a friend,” he continued, flashing another glare over at Wells, but then the next second he was smiling at Clarke again. “Next time we go out for drinks though, you're buying.”  
  
She let out a sound that was almost a laugh, and then held out her hand to him. “I think that sounds like a good plan,” she told him lightly, expecting him to take her hand, but instead he pulled her into a tight hug. Her eyes widened but then her expression softened as she returned it, wrapping her arms around him.  
  
“Just be careful, Clarke,” he murmured by her ear, and she felt him hold her a little tighter. “I might not know much, but I know the world's dangerous, especially the world you're going to. Remember you'll always have friends here.”  
  
She could feel tears beginning to build in her eyes but managed to hold them back, pressing her cheek a little harder against his. “I will be, Jasper,” she promised, “and you be careful too.” Pulling back a little she gave him a look, her own eyebrow lifting now as she stated bluntly, “I won't be here all the time to keep you out of trouble anymore, so you're going to have to use that big brain of yours and actually think before you piss anyone off, okay?” One corner of his mouth dragged up into a smirk and he shrugged, telling her, “Eh, I'll see what I can do.”  
  
“Don't worry Clarke, we'll keep him out of trouble,” Maya assured her as she and Jasper broke apart, and now it was Maya's turn to pull her in for a hug. “It'll be a lot of work, but we'll do it anyway.” Beside them Jasper crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to look indignant, but the two women grinned at each other as they hugged.  
  
“I know you'll keep your eye on him, Maya.” She squeezed the younger woman and then pulled back, meeting soft brown eyes that had always somehow made her feel calm whenever she was anything but. “Just remember to take care of yourself too. And if you ever need me and I'm not around, all you have to do is write and I'll be here as soon as I can.” Her smile grew by centimeters, looking between them. “After all, that's what family does for each other.”  
  
Maya and Jasper both returned her smile, the three all genuine and soft, and Clarke's chest filled with a spreading warmth she wished she could hold onto and never let go of. Unfortunately at that moment she could hear more movement in the room, and their moment was broken as they all looked back to see Luna, Derrick, and five more workers walk in, each carrying a small sack of food. It was all the bread that had been made thanks to Niylah's secret ingredient, and as they stopped Clarke stood a little straighter as Luna looked over those gathered in the room. Her gaze paused on the blonde and Clarke met her eyes, and when the mistress gave her a barely perceptible nod she returned it.  
  
“Alright,” the older woman said loudly, tearing her focus away from Clarke and speaking to everyone in the room. “You all know why we're here; someone thinks they're special enough they can kill the queen. We're going to remind them they're not, as well as remind the city that a whore is more than just what's between our legs.” A few of the people listening gave a little cheer at that, and Luna let them have it, the corners of her lips twitching momentarily. She looked good in this moment, Clarke decided, looked like she belonged. Even in a dress that matched what all of the other women wore she seemed to be elevated, like a general leading her army. Not for the first time she saw the woman's power, usually hidden and quiet, coming to life. Luna nodded at them all as the cheering subsided, and then held out the bag she carried. “I want everyone armed before we go, with bread as well as with knife. This should all go neatly, but that doesn't mean I want anyone taking any chances. I want to see everyone before we leave.”  
  
The crowd in the room began to filter towards the house's mistress, and Maya and Jasper both gave Clarke another smile and another squeeze of her hand before they turned to join them. As most people moved towards the older woman one person stepped away, and Clarke met Derrick's eyes as he made his way over towards her, brow furrowed slightly in worry.  
  
“Clarke,” he greeted and she nodded, giving him a smile even as she let him scan her face. She knew he didn't know everything that was going on but he clearly knew more then most of them, his worry evident in his expression. “Be careful at the palace today,” he warned her, “these people you found, these nobles, they're not gonna like that you found 'em out, and there's no guarantee the queen'll even listen to you.” He worked his jaw as though he was thinking something over and then let out a long sigh. “I'd go with you to make sure you're okay, but they,” he gestured back to Luna and the others, “they might need me today with these scum they're goin' to see.”  
  
The words made the warmth in Clarke's chest grow, rising in her throat and then hitting her behind her eyes, but she blinked the tears back she could feel forming. The sincerity of the offer and guilt that it couldn't truly be made were both obvious in the man's expression, and she reached out, lightly gripping his arm.  
  
“Don't worry about me, Derrick,” she told him, flashing him a small smile. “I'll be fine.” She nodded back to Wells and continued, “My friend's coming with me, and he's not going to let anything happen to me.” Her smile grew a little bit. “Besides, you know I can take care of myself.”  
  
The words made his lips tick up, slowly flashing her a grin. “I know you can. Still though, there might be a lot you need protectin' from.” He looked over to Wells then, his grin falling, and studied him. Wells didn't cower beneath the look, just stared back at him and refused to look away. After a second Derrick met his eyes, asking, “You're gonna keep her safe?”  
  
“With my life if need be,” the younger man replied without hesitation, and Derrick considered the words for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright then,” he said and then looked back at Clarke. “Good luck Clarke. May the gods be watchin' and keep you safe.”  
  
“May we all stay safe today,” she agreed, voice dropping a little and he nodded again. Giving her one last smile and then sending another look to Wells, he turned and made his way back over to Luna. Clarke's eyes followed him as he went and Luna just happened to look up at that same moment. Their gazes held for a steady moment and then the older woman was nodding to the door and Clarke closed her eyes, letting out a long silent breath. When they opened again she settled her shoulders, lifting her head up.  
  
“Come on Wells,” she just said, turning towards the front door, “it's time to finally end this.”  
  
“Yes my lady,” he agreed quietly, falling into step beside her, and for the first time in a long time she let the words wash over her instead of shrinking away from them.  
  
It was time for them to take their lives back. 

***

Lexa picked half-heartedly at the fruit in front of her. Nestled among grapes, apples and berries were a couple of pears, and just looking at them nearly made her wince. It was almost as if she could taste the juice of the best pear she'd ever eaten on her tongue, could feel that same juice running down her chin, and it all just made her stomach turn. Instead she helped herself to the grapes, popping one in her mouth every few minutes and chewing it slowly as she listened to Titus go on and on about tomorrow's activities and the plans he'd set in place with help from those in the room. Her aunt sat perfectly straight in her chair, nodding along with everything the adviser said and interrupting when she didn't agree, while Roan sat beside her, watching Titus intently but otherwise remaining silent. Back behind them Ontari and Anya both stood against the wall, the duchess never without her shadow and Anya still refusing to leave Lexa's side, and though she couldn't see them she knew they were standing at attention. On her other side was Aden, the prince trying to appear just as focused but the queen noticed him shift every now and then, likely bored.  
  
Lexa might have told him she agreed if she felt boredom anymore, but in truth she hadn't really been able to feel much of anything for the past day or so. Her body felt hollow, empty, and she knew she'd just become a shell with a queen's face. Maybe someday she would be able to fill that emptiness with an essence of who she was, but for now the hollowness felt better than the hurt that had wracked her chest in the days prior to it. She reveled in the nothingness, wrapping it around her as though it were her safety net.  
  
“...fields are all ready, all the horses are being groomed, and the food is being prepared as we speak,” Titus read off his list and Lexa made herself refocus on what was being said. “As you heard, the head cook assures us that everything will be ready by tomorrow morning. The winners' purses are already set aside, and the stands have been repaired and cleaned so that they are now as good as new.” He looked up from the scroll he'd been reading from, a self-satisfied smile just barely making his lips twitch, and at any other time it would have amused the queen how much her adviser enjoyed it when plans went as expected. His eyes fell on her and he nodded, telling her, “It looks like everything is ready for tomorrow, Your Majesty.”  
  
“Very good, Titus,” Lexa replied, returning his nod, “You've done well, putting this all together.” He bowed slightly at the praise and she looked over to the duchess. “Aunt, is there anything else you wanted to go over?”  
  
Nia shook her head, a small smile turning her lips up as well.  
  
“Nothing, Alexandria,” she told her. “It sounds like it's all as we expected it to be.” She looked over at her son, her smile growing a little as her hand fell to his arm. “I look forward to seeing my son win in the duels, perhaps even in the jousting competitions.”  
  
“I may not win, Mother,” Roan reminded her, turning to look at her in his seat. “There are a number of strong fighters who will be competing in the contests.” He looked back behind them, nodding to Anya. “If Lady Anya chooses to fight and I get paired up with her, I will be lucky to walk away without any lost limbs.”  
  
Lexa didn't turn around, fully expecting it when Anya informed them, “I won't be competing, Duke Roan, so you won't have to worry about that. I'll be with Her Majesty all day.”  
  
Nia's lips pursed and Lexa actually had to fight back a brief smile, knowing her aunt didn't appreciate any of them believing anyone could beat her son. The look quickly washed away though and Lexa met the forced smile the duchess gave her as she said, “Of course you will be. It's a pity you won't be able to partake in the festivities as well, Alexandria.”  
  
“It would be foolish for Aden or myself to add our names to any of the lists,” she replied, shifting just a hair to work a kink out of her back. She'd been sitting too stiffly for too long, even for her. “While I hope there aren't any accidents tomorrow, we can't take a chance of either of us getting hurt.” From the corner of her eye she could see her brother nodding, and to his credit he didn't even look disappointed. He was getting better and better at hiding his emotions every day, but for some reason the thought made a sharp pain spike in her chest. Her expression didn't change as she simply continued to meet her aunt's eyes.  
  
“Of course,” she agreed and reached out, lightly touching Lexa's wrist. “We can't take any chances with your life.”  
  
The queen nodded and then looked away, gazing past Titus's shoulder and out the window. From the angle of the light streaming in she knew it must nearly be mid-morning, so stood up, expecting it as everyone else who had been sitting rose just a fraction of a moment later.  
  
“Now that we have the plans for the tournament finalized, I have audiences I have to attend to,” she told them, the dismissal clear. Titus began putting his scrolls back in order and Nia dipped into the slightest curtsy while Roan bowed, both then stepping around her and Ontari quickly following behind them. Lexa was about to follow them out of the room when she heard her brother say, “Lexa? Could I speak with you for a second?” She looked over to see him glancing at the others in the room. “Alone?”  
  
“Of course,” she told him, and then made eye contact with Titus who grabbed his scrolls more quickly and then made his way out the door. Anya was already watching her when she looked over to her. “You can wait for me outside the door, Anya,” she informed her, not even angry anymore about her best friend's unwillingness to leave her side. It was to be expected after what Anya had caught her doing. The knight just nodded, first to her and then to Aden, and then followed the adviser out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.  
  
“What do you need, Aden?” she asked once they were alone, but when she looked back at him she frowned. He was studying her intently, eyes scanning her face, and she didn't like the worry she could see tucked into his brow.  
  
“Are you sure everything's okay, Lexa?” he wanted to know, ignoring her question. “You've just been acting kind of...” He seemed to be searching for the right word and then just gave a little shrug, still not looking away from her. “Different, I guess. Not enough that a lot of people would notice but it feels like something's wrong.”  
  
She let out a long breath, closing her eyes, and shook her head.  
  
“I'm fine, Aden,” she informed him, but when she opened her eyes again she could see he didn't believe her, his frown just deepening. The look managed to crack through the emptiness for a moment, a spark of warmth lighting in her chest, and she let herself smile. It wasn't much, just a small curl of her lips, but it managed to help him relax a little. “Really Aden, I'm fine. This week has just been... stressful.” She took the few steps over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Her eyes widened for a second as she realized he was almost as tall as her; when had he grown that much? Pushing the realization down for the moment, she lightly bumped her forehead to the top of his head. “Once the tournament is over and most of the nobles go back to their homes, I'm sure I'll relax a little.”  
  
He let out a little scoff, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Sure, you'll definitely relax. I believe that.” The joking left his tone as he looked up at her again, telling her more seriously, “If you need help with anything, you know I'll do it. You're not the only one with royal blood; I can help run the nation, if you want.”  
  
The offer made the warmth in her chest grow and she held him a little tighter.  
  
“Thank you, brother,” she murmured, though she knew she would only take him up on the offer so far. She would continue to do everything she could to let him have the childhood she couldn't have for as long as possible. Still, it was good to see that he cared, that he would step up if needed, and she gave him a smile. “I appreciate that.” Glancing back towards the window and remembering the time, she added, “Why don't we talk more about this after the tournament?” He nodded and she released him, almost wishing it wasn't second nature for her to immediately shift so that her hands clasped behind her back. It was though and they did, and in that same instant the smile that had tugged against her lips washed away, her cool and controlled mask slipping right into place without a thought. “Come on,” she said as she moved over to the door and he followed right along behind her.  
  
In the hallway they found Anya waiting for them, and the knight took her place on Lexa's right as Aden walked to her left. The three walked in silence to the Great Hall, and the moment they entered the room the large crowd of nobles she'd come to expect at these all quickly fell into bows and curtsies upon seeing her. The queen barely glanced at any of them, just kept her head up high as she made her way over to the throne, sweeping her long skirt out to the side as she sank into it. Aden sat in his smaller throne at her left and Anya took up her spot just behind them, standing perfectly straight as her eyes swept across the crowd in front of them.  
  
Like Anya, Lexa's eyes ran across the crowd of nobles, barely even focusing on them. They were all the same faces she expected to see, her aunt front and center with her son, Nyko standing over to her left. The Wallaces stood opposite the duchess with Lord Thames and Lady Julia with them. The Arkadians stood a little ways back though Lexa wasn't sure where Lady Madi was since she wasn't standing at her usual spot beside her mother, and the other nobles were spread out around them all. A couple of servers moved between the nobles, offering glasses of wine to tide them over during the audiences but Lexa glanced over them all, not really seeing them until–  
  
Wait. Was that... Was that Harper?  
  
Lexa did a quick double-take, her focus suddenly sharpening on a head of blonde hair and the all too familiar face beneath it, but before she could say anything or even really believe what she was seeing the doors to the Great Hall opened and the Guard members on duty led the first few people who had come to see her into the room. The crowd of nobles parted to make way for them and Lexa had to force herself to look away from that familiar blonde hair, her mind whirling.  
  
What was Harper doing in the palace? Was Clarke alright? Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest, worry trickling down her spin, but for the moment she forced herself to push it down. Surely if anything were truly wrong Clarke would be here herself or Harper would have asked to speak with her the moment she stepped into the room. Lexa made herself sit back in the throne as she latched onto that thought. She would deal with the audiences as quickly as she could and then as soon as they were over she would speak with Harper and find out what was going on. Everything would be fine as long as she remained calm and focused.  
  
Nothing could have ever prepared Lexa for what happened next.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

With the Magpie just ahead, Luna led her people towards an open alleyway, stopping in front of it. Everyone crowded around her, all eyes on their mistress, as Luna turned to Derrick.  
  
“Get inside,” she told him, “don't let yourself be seen. Stay hidden unless it sounds like something is going wrong.” He nodded, meeting her eye and not looking away for a moment and then left. She knew he would use the inn's servant entrance and then hide in the walls, waiting silently until he heard anything that might indicate their plan had gone wrong. Luna would have liked to speak with him alone before he went but didn't bother trying; neither of them could chance the distraction.  
  
With Derrick gone to do his part, she looked back at the people standing around her, all watching her silently. A few people fidgeted, their nerves clear in their expressions, and she made sure to meet each of their eyes.  
  
“Relax,” she said, keeping her tone softer than usual. That alone managed to help a couple of them. “We've all dealt with dangerous people before. Just act like they're any other customer and you'll be fine.” She nodded to the small sacks everyone now carried, slices of freshly baked bread wrapped carefully inside each one. “Once your guest is unconscious, come back here. Don't wait inside; we don't need to still be around when the City Guard shows up.” A few of them nodded while the rest continued to watch her, and then the mistress nodded at them all. “Alright, let's go.”  
  
Without saying anything else she led them to the Magpie and as she was leading them inside she could see a few people primping out of the corners of her eyes, ruffling their hair or tugging lightly at the cut of their dresses. A small smirk twitched at the corners of her lips and then as she walked through the front door she made sure to add a little sway to her hips. As she'd expected the inn's owner seemed to be waiting for them by his front desk, another man standing with him. If she didn't already know Ox it might have been difficult to tell which of the men was the innkeeper and which was the mercenary; he'd earned that nickname due his large bulky frame and squashed nose. The man beside him was a little bit smaller but Luna could tell even with a shirt on his muscles had been sculpted from years of hard use. His face was long and chin was pointed, a long scar running down its center. The man's white-blonde hair was only a few inches long, and bright blue eyes scanned over their group as Luna led them into the room. Seeing them his thin lips curled up into a smirk, and Luna made sure to let her own mirror it as she very obviously looked him over.  
  
“You must be Master Landen,” she guessed, stopping only when she was standing in front of the two men. The rest of her people hung back a little, letting her take the lead. The mercenary leader looked her over, the smirk never leaving his lips.  
  
“Maybe I am,” he replied, a gravelly lilt to his voice. “Depends on who's lookin' for me.”  
  
Luna made sure to meet his eyes as he looked back up at her, tilting her head ever so slightly. “We're a gift from a certain lord,” she replied, knowing better than to try to give him her name or Wallace's. He probably wouldn't expect her to know who it was that hired them, and Ox likely already gave him her own name; it wasn't like this man cared about it anyway. “To thank you for your troubles, he says.”  
  
Landen's smirk grew. “Well then, I'd hate to let a gift go to waste.” He nodded back towards a door behind him. “My men're all waitin'.”  
  
“Every room?” Luna asked, now looking over to Ox. The innkeeper nodded, telling her, “They got everythin' on the first two floors, yeah.”  
  
“You heard the nice men,” she said to her people without turning around, “Go give Master Landen's people a good time.” They filed by her, some of them catching Landen's eye and giving him a coy smile, but Luna stood there, not looking away from the leader of the mercenaries. Only after they had filtered out of the room did she take a step forward, smirking up at the other man from beneath her eyelashes. “And what about you, sir? Are you looking for a good time too?” She reached out without hesitation, lightly gripping his cock through his breeches and let her smirk slowly grow. “Feels like you are.”  
  
One corner of the man's mouth curled up as she palmed him. He grabbed her dress and forced her closer and she went, for now letting him take control.  
  
“I'm ready for a fuckin' great time, whore,” he replied and she gave him a little squeeze. She heard him let out a sharp breath and then he was turning around, pulling her behind him by the front of her dress. Luna didn't fight it, just let him lead her further into the inn, a smirk on her lips while inside she coolly calculated.  
  
She would make sure this would be a day he would never forget. 

***

The closer they got to the palace, the harder Clarke's heart rammed in her chest. Sweat had broken out along her spine and hairline, and she knew the temperature had absolutely nothing to do with it. More than once she had to wipe her palms against her breeches to dry them, and every time she did she felt them shaking harder than they had the time before. Beside her Wells pretended to be fine, but she could she the perspiration collecting above his lips and the way his posture got straighter and straighter the further they went.  
  
They stopped in front of the large open gate, just staring through it for a few seconds. People were moving around in the small courtyard behind it, mostly Guardsmen and a few servants, but other than a few glances at the two stopped in front of the gate they were largely ignored. Neither of them spoke as they stood there, both thinking about how much their lives were about to change, but then Wells held his hand out, not looking over at her.  
  
“Ready?” he murmured, his voice no more than a whisper. She could hear everything in it, his own uncertainties and excitement, fear and nervousness. Clarke let herself stare for a single second longer and then gripped his hand tightly. “Ready.”  
  
Without any further hesitation they continued forward, releasing the other's hand as they passed through the gate. Clarke could feel herself automatically walk taller, her head tilting up as her heart beat at a mile a minute. She almost felt like she would be sick but she fought it down, just standing taller.  
  
“Hey you, stop,” she heard and they did as a set of Guards made their way over to the pair. They eyed the two uncertainly, and she could see confusion on one of their faces as he looked her over. “What business do you have here?”  
  
If either of them had ever seen her as Clarke Blake, they clearly didn't recognize her now. She was about to answer when a hand fell to one of their shoulders and they both looked back, immediately straightening up.  
  
“They're with me, Hickson,” Lincoln informed them, lightly gripping the man's shoulder, and both of them immediately stepped back, clearing the way for them. “Yes Lieutenant,” Hickson automatically replied and Lincoln nodded at the two Guardsmen before turning his focus to the two guests. “This way,” he just said, turning and nodding towards the palace and Clarke and Wells fell into step behind them.  
  
“How has everything been going?” Clarke muttered quietly as they began making their way into the palace. Her eyes darted from side to side, taking in everything she could despite the fact everyone they passed now was either a Guard or servant. She knew exactly where all the nobles would be, and had to fight back another wave of nervous nausea.  
  
“Good,” Lincoln told her just as quietly without looking back at either of them. “We were able to keep eyes on just about everyone this morning. They're all in the Great Hall, just as we'd hoped. The audiences started a few minutes ago.”  
  
Clarke nodded and didn't say anything else, having to focus instead on trying to get her heart to stop racing quite so fast. She was already feeling lightheaded, and knew if she couldn't make herself calm down soon she'd probably pass out before they could get any farther. Slowly she began taking deep breaths, each one silent as she closed her eyes and tried to center herself.  
  
They stopped outside the doors of the Great Hall, already open to admit the few commoners who had shown up to speak to their queen. For a brief second Clarke felt a spike of guilt rise up for taking this time away from them, but it was quickly snuffed out as she remembered exactly why they were doing this. Even without peering around the door frame she could hear Lexa talking, giving a solution to whatever problem had just been presented to her, and Clarke closed her eyes again, letting the woman's voice center her. That alone was able to calm her down enough that she knew she would be able to continue, and then when she opened her eyes again she immediately met Lincoln's.  
  
“Just like we talked about,” she murmured and he nodded.  
  
The moment they heard the queen stop speaking Lincoln's posture straightened, his expression evening as he quickly made his way into the Great Hall. The person who had just spoken to the queen was making his way back towards the hall, looking a little dazed, and the Guardsman stepped forward before the next commoner could.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he announced, voice loud enough that all eyes in the room turned towards him. He didn't stop walking as he spoke, making his way down the center of the room until Lexa's dais stood just a few yards in front of him and the rest of the nobles watched behind him. He bowed respectfully even as he felt the queen's stare, noticed the slight furl in her brow when he looked up again but didn't give any indication of such. Turning back towards the doorway he held his arm out, saying, “May I present to you, Lord Wells Jaha of the Arkadian Hills.”  
  
Wells stepped into the room as a crowd of nobles all turned to stare at the doorway, a few shocked gasps coming from some of them. Though not as talked about as Clarke, everyone had heard of the Jaha heir who had died in the fire along with his lord and they were all shocked to see someone now walking forward with that name. He refused to look anywhere but straight ahead and didn't stop until he stood by Lincoln, bowing low to the queen.  
  
“Your Majesty,” he greeted from his bow before rising. He met a surprised green stare, the queen looking down on him from her throne, and watched as the flicker of surprise quickly disappeared from her eyes. “As Lieutenant Lincoln said, I am Lord Wells Jaha. It is my-”  
  
Before he could get anything else out he heard footsteps behind him followed by a gasped, “ _Wells_?” He stiffened at the voice, turning slowly to see his father now standing in front of the crowd of nobles, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. Lady Abby stood beside him equally as shocked, and as much as he wanted to warn her to get away from the man he just stood still. Thelonius Jaha nearly stumbled forward, his body shaking as he moved. Wells didn't look away from him as he approached and couldn't help clenching his jaw when his father was close enough to reach out, fingers just barely brushing his cheek. The lord's eyes scanned his son's face, amazement and disbelief clouding them. “It-It is you. My son.” Thelonius reached out to pull him to him but Wells stepped away, his cheek already burning where his traitorous father had touched him.  
  
“It is,” he replied stiffly and then looked back to the queen, all but ignoring his father. From the corner of his eyes he could see something new flash across the man's face, something that might have been some kind of hurt but he couldn't begin to care about it as he continued to address the queen. “Your Majesty, I'm here today because there are truths you need to know.” He looked back to the groups of nobles behind him, fighting to keep himself from glaring at his father or any of the other conspirators. “Something that you _all_ need to know. But I am not the one who should tell it.”  
  
The moment Lincoln had introduced this young man, Lexa's mind had begun reeling. She'd watched him enter the room, seen the reaction the rest of her people had had, and paid close attention to the interaction between him and Lord Jaha. Despite how quickly her mind spun she couldn't quite seem to grasp what it was trying to tell her, an idea half-forming before slipping away from her again. As the younger man began to speak again it began to grow larger and with every word he said she could feel her heart begin to beat harder against her chest, her vision nearly blurring. This man was believed to have died seven years ago in a fire, a fire that had killed Lord Jake Griffin and –  
  
“Clarke,” she whispered at the same time Wells turned back towards the door, gesturing to it as he announced, “Your Majesty, it is my honor to introduce you to Lady Clarke Griffin, the true heir to the Arkadian Hills.” Lexa's eyes were on the door before he'd gotten more than two words out, and all at once she felt as though someone had rammed a fist sharply into her chest knocking all the air out of her lungs as a new figure appeared, framed in the doorway.  
  
The gasps this time were louder, and then as Clarke stepped into the room with her head held high they grew in volume and quantity as more and more of the people there finally got a look at her. First one person broke out into murmurings, someone saying, “That's– It can't be, that's...” followed by whispers too many to count. By the time Clarke made it to where Wells stood the whispers had grown into full-out exclamations, few people even trying to keep their voices down. Lexa watched with wide eyes as Clarke – now blonde with her hair cut short and in breeches and a shirt instead of the usual dresses – strode into the room, her own eyes going straight to the queen's face and not looking away. She knew her shock had to be visible to everyone in the room but couldn't quite figure out how to hide it as her mind replayed every interaction they'd ever had over and over in faster and faster sequences, desperately trying to piece together what was happening.  
  
For her part Clarke didn't stop as the noises around and behind her grew, didn't let her gaze wander to anyone but the queen staring at her wide-eyed on the throne. From the corners of her eyes she saw every noble who had been to the queen's parties split into two groups, one on either side of the walkway she'd just come down. Finn and his father's faces both paled before burning red while Myers and Illen watched on with wide eyes. Monroe was grinning, one of the only people in the crowds not shocked by this new twist, while the people around her looked as though they were seeing a ghost despite the fact they'd never met Clarke Griffin before. She caught sight of Harper among the masses, a tray in her hands and she might have turned to her to tell her to leave now if she'd really been able to focus in any direction other than straight ahead. For half of a second her focus almost did pull away from the dais in front of her when she caught sight of her mother, hands over her mouth and eyes wide, but she didn't let herself turn away and forget why she was there. Walking past the crowd allowed her to notice the sides of the rooms where she found Guards and servants gathered, and she was unsurprised to find they'd all gone still at the nobles' reactions to her entrance. They likely didn't know or care who she was, but anyone who caused this kind of reaction was always someone those without power needed to pay attention to. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as they stared unabashedly, but for her part there was only one person she let herself stare at.  
  
Clarke's heart jumped to her throat the instant she laid eyes on Lexa sitting regally above everyone else in a dark green and black dress, one that somehow managed to bleed royalty despite its more simplistic features than any she'd worn to her parties. The sight of the brunette stole Clarke's breath away, especially when she caught something flash across the other woman's face, and before she was even entirely aware of what she was doing she wasn't just bowing but fulling kneeling before her dais, quickly dropping to one knee. Anya and Aden and Titus, all up on the dais with the queen stared at her with open surprise while the Captain of the Guard who stood just in front of the dais narrowed her eyes at this sudden stranger, obviously nothing but suspicious. Clarke ignored them all, not breaking away from that confused green gaze until she let her head drop down in reverence.  
  
The exclamations and whispers didn't stop as Clarke dropped to a knee in front of her, and Lexa latched onto the noise to pull herself out of her stupor. “Silence!” she ordered, happy at least that somehow her voice didn't break as confusion and shock and a little bit of awe swirled like a storm in her chest. The single word rang out in the large room and all at once everyone followed it, the exclamations instantly cut off. From the edge of her periphery she saw one person slowly stepping forward, looking at no one but the woman kneeling at the edge of the dais, and Lexa forced herself to look away from Clarke over to Lady Abigail. The woman had gone pale, all color washing from her face, and all at once Lexa's heart went out to her even as her own emotions continued to swirl uncontrollably. “Lady Abby,” she called, her voice rougher than it should have been but she couldn't quite help that. “Please approach.” She was pretty sure the woman was going to do just that with permission or without so for the moment she decided to just watch and see how this played out. Without being entirely aware of it she'd already leaned forward in her seat, both hands grasping tightly to the arms of her throne.  
  
Clarke didn't look up at Lexa's words or when she heard hesitant footsteps slowly making their way towards her. Her hands curled into fists as she waited, anxiety pumping like blood through her veins. She couldn't breathe, already felt her chest beginning to burn, but couldn't even begin to remember how to draw air into her lungs. She didn't move even as a blue skirt flashed at the corner of her vision, and when she heard someone slowly drop to the floor beside her she closed her eyes, clenching them shut tightly. A shaking finger pressed beneath her chin and she let it guide her face up, and when her eyes opened again she was staring into her mother's face. Time and loss had aged Lady Abigail, wrinkles now etched into her forehead and the corners of her eyes that Clarke didn't remember, but there was no mistaking her mother's dark eyes or the pain and heart-breaking relief she found looking at her with a watery stare. Those eyes scanned over her face, her mouth just barely hanging open, and Clarke could feel her own eyes begin to burn as she did the same.  
  
“Clarke?” Abby whispered, her voice barely working. Somehow Clarke managed to give her a little smile, the action at the same time easy and nearly impossible. “It's me, Mother,” she murmured, subconsciously reaching up and grasping desperately at her pendant from a need to anchor herself. The older woman's eyes quickly followed the movement until she caught sight of the necklace, and a small sob escaped from her chest. She looked back up at her face and that's when the first tear finally fell as absolute realization finally managed to hit her. “Clarke.” Without warning she threw her arms around her daughter's shoulders and sobbed, grasping the child to her chest she'd been so sure she'd lost. Clarke froze for a second and then she was hugging her back, burying her nose against her mother's neck and letting her own tears fall.  
  
Lexa watched the reunion without breathing, a crack opening in her chest even as she still tried to piece everything together. She couldn't even begin to understand what was going on but even so she felt herself smile just a little, tears building in her own eyes she somehow kept from falling. The crowd watching behind the mother and daughter looked from the pair to the queen to each other, as lost as anyone else, but a few people watching felt a couple of tears slip down their own cheeks.  
  
After a very long moment Abby pulled back, both hands moving to Clarke's face to cup it, staring again as her mind whirled with questions.  
  
“Clarke, what, how...” She shook her head, unable to look away from her daughter long enough to even blink. “How is this possible? How, how are you here? I thought, we all thought, you were dead. You, you and, and everyone else, you were supposed to have died in the fire. I don't understand.” Her daughter reached up, covering her hands with her own and then gently pulled them away from her face, standing back up as she did so. She pulled her mother back up to her feet as she moved, and then stepped back, releasing her grip on the older woman. She saw fear instantly flash across her mother's face the moment they were no longer touching and just tried to give her a reassuring smile before she stepped back into place beside Wells.  
  
“That's a long story, Mother,” she began, and then she looked up the dais at Lexa, still watching the scene with noticeable confusion. “And it's one I came here to tell because everyone needs to hear it.” She met Lexa's eyes, holding them as she added, “Especially you, Your Majesty.”  
  
The queen had to swallow quickly before she could get out any kind of reply. “Then please, Cl-... Lady Clarke. Tell us your story. We all want to know.” Clarke could hear something beneath her words, something she thought might be more than just confusion or a careful control, and bit the inside of her cheek. She took a silent breath to steady herself and then tilted her head higher.  
  
“Everyone knows that Lord Wells and I took a trip with my father to the Millers' fief seven years ago,” she started, making sure her voice was loud enough to carry over the whole room. “It was believed that an accidental fire started in the inn we were staying at one night and we all died, but that's not what happened.” She swallowed, fighting past a thumping heart. “There was a fire, and everyone but Lord Wells and I did die, but it wasn't an accident. Two men had been hired to kill me and my father and were told not to leave any witnesses. They drugged us, tied us up, and then I watched as one of them stabbed my father to death.”  
  
Many of the people listening gasped at that, any number of them crying out at the image. Clarke watched as her mother put a hand over her mouth, silencing her own gasp. Fresh tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the blonde ached to try to soothe her, to stop telling this story that would only hurt her more with every word, but she forced herself to keep going. She looked back up at the queen, finding a fire now blazing in Lexa's eyes and one of her hands curled into a tight fist, and the sight might have taken her breath away if she didn't have more important things to think about at the moment.  
  
“I was left to burn alive,” she continued, her voice not wavering in her story. She gestured to Wells, saying, “The only reason I survived was because Lord Wells found me and we managed to get out before the fire spread through the entire building. Everyone else inside had been drugged as well. We couldn't save them.” Her throat burned as the screams she'd heard as they'd been running away from the burning building filled her ears, ones she knew would never stop haunting her dreams. At her sides her hands curled up into fists to match Lexa's, and her voice became harder as she said, “Because of what they'd done, Wells and I decided it wasn't safe to go back home, so we started to track down the men who had done all this. I knew if I could find them then I could also find whoever had given them the order to kill my father. It took us seven years, but I finally found him.” She turned, eyes almost immediately finding Cage Wallace standing at the front of the crowd, his own eyes already blazing by the time she met them. “Isn't that right, Lord Cage?”  
  
For the fourth time in only a few minutes gasps filled the room, those who'd been standing near the Wallaces immediately stumbling back to put distance between the accused lord and themselves. Dante stared at Clarke, utter surprise on his face, while fury danced across Cage's expression.  
  
“Liar!” he accused, stepping forward and pointing a finger at Clarke. “You dare...” His voice shook with rage and then he was glancing up, meeting cold fury coming from hard green eyes. Instantly he shook his head, taking another few steps out as he said, “Your Majesty, you can't believe anything this woman says. It's a trick. She and this, this,” he gestured to Wells, searching for the right word, and then just got out, “ _person_ , they're trying to trick you, trick everyone. Everyone knows Lady Clarke and Lord Wells died in a freak accident along with Lord Jakob. She believes she can get away with making everyone believe she's a dead noblewoman when we all know she's nothing but a common _whore_.”  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Bellamy growled, taking a step away from the crowd towards him, Octavia pushing her way through just a second later. Both Blakes advanced on him, murder flickering in their eyes, but Clarke stopped them before they could do anything any of them might regret.  
  
“Enough, Bellamy,” she ordered and Lexa watched on as the man and his sister instantly stopped, both of them still staring at the Mount Weather heir. Rather than let anyone else fight her battles for her, Clarke stalked towards Cage, a fire Lexa quickly recognized burrowing into her eyes. The queen's throat went dry as she heard the younger woman tell him in a hard voice, “You're right, I am a whore. And a noblewoman. And you're a murderer and a traitor.”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he hissed, stepping closer to Clarke to try to invade her space but the blonde didn't let it shake her.   
  
“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” she insisted, the hatred she had for him obvious to everyone in the room. “We found them,” she continued, stepping so close that their chests were almost touching. “The men you hired; we found them. At the beginning of the summer. Wells and I set up a trap for them, and then before we killed them Jenson told us they'd never spoken to the lord who hired them, they'd just gone through a man named Emerson.” She tore her eyes away from him and then scanned the sides of the room, sure that this man wouldn't go anywhere without his captain for protection. Sure enough after scanning the ever-growing number of people watching from the sides of the room she found the same handsome face she'd first tied with the name only days ago. She stared at him almost as hatefully as she had Cage, and practically heard it as nearly everyone in the room turned to see who she was staring at. The captain made himself stand tall under the looks, his lips pursing together and jaw clenching tightly as he forced himself to look back at her. After another few seconds Clarke turned back to the nobles, glancing over at Dante whose face had gone ashen before she could glare back at his son.  
  
“I should thank you, my Lord Dante; I only found the captain of your guard thanks to you.” In front of her Cage's nostrils flared and Clarke looked back at him, very nearly grinning at the look he was giving her. She had him and she knew it; there was no way she was going to let him get away with this.  
  
“Maybe I misunderstood you,” a voice stated behind her, and Clarke had to tear her focus away from the lord to look at Indra. The Captain of the Guard stood at the front of the dais and to the side, the line of protection between the queen and anyone who would think to harm her, and her dark eyes were staring at Clarke. The younger noblewoman couldn't quite read the tone of her voice as she continued, “It sounded like you just confessed to murder.”  
  
Clarke straightened up even as she noticed fear flash across her mother's face as well as her friends'. She looked from the captain up to Lexa, seeing something warring in green eyes she was sure hadn't looked away from her since the moment she'd stepped into the room. Without looking away from the queen she moved forward again, leaving Cage behind as she admitted evenly, “I did. Lord Wells and I found the men who killed my father and burned down the inn, and we killed them. After I realized Cage Wallace was responsible for those deaths we went to kill him and Emerson as well.” Behind her the murmuring started again and she could hear people shifting, probably looking from each other to her to the queen, but for her part Clarke didn't take her eyes off of Lexa. She could see the queen's jaw clench, watched as she lifted her head a little higher, and felt a piercing ache in her chest. She desperately wished she could stop there, that she could leave everything where it was and not hurt the brunette anymore than she'd already been hurt, but knew she couldn't. There was only one reason she'd even come here, and now she had to tell Lexa the truth about it. “The only reason we didn't kill them that night was because we heard something that stopped us. Something worse than what Cage did to my father.”  
  
“And what was that, Lady Clarke?” Lexa asked evenly, her voice almost quiet in the room, and Clarke could practically feel the people behind her lean forward, waiting in anticipation. She swallowed thickly, still not breaking eye contact with Lexa, and told her, “We found a conspiracy. A coup; my father's death was only a piece of it.” Her eyes scanned Lexa's, seeing something shift in them, and somehow she felt like Lexa knew what she was going to say next but she made herself continue anyway. “Your Majesty, your aunt has been working with some of the nobility to overthrow you. She's planning to kill you during the tournament tomorrow and then steal the crown from Prince Aden.”  
  
The uproar the words caused was greater than any of the ones before, nobody even trying to whisper as nearly everyone began talking at once. Lexa could hear people calling Clarke a liar, catching the word “whore” being tossed around more than once. Other people were clearly just surprised, proclaiming their disbelief with wide eyes that stared at either the queen or the duchess standing at the front of the crowd. Some people shrunk away from her while others pushed closer to the duchess, but for her part Lexa watched as her aunt remained silent, the expression on her face barely so much as twitching. Nia's cold eyes stared at Clarke while Clarke stared up at Lexa, and the queen's eyes remained glued to her aunt.  
  
Suddenly Lexa's hand rose, calling for quiet. The crowd in front of her was in too much of an uproar though to notice, and before she could do anything about it she heard Titus standing just behind her bellow, “Silence!” That grabbed everyone's attention and they all turned back towards the dais, only now noticing the queen's raised hand and immediately going quiet.  
  
“You have been accused of treason, Aunt Nia,” Lexa stated in an even tone as she made sure her expression was just as even. It took every shred of control she'd built over the years to keep herself from clenching the arms of her chair any more tightly than she was already doing, desperately trying to keep the fury she could feel slowly building in her chest tamped down. “What do you have to say to this?”  
  
The duchess's eyes rose from Clarke to stare up at the queen, and Lexa could read the ice building in her stare even as her face remained neutral. “I don't see why I should say anything to it,” she answered coolly, as though being accused of treason were nothing to worry over. “This woman is clearly deranged; I will not insult myself by thinking anyone could believe her ridiculous story.” Many of the people standing in the crowds behind her glanced at each other, their faces flushing as they shifted nervously.  
  
Before Clarke or Lexa could say anything, Octavia stepped forward, standing tall as everyone turned to her.  
  
“I believe her story,” she declared, looking up at the queen. “This _is_ Lady Clarke, Your Majesty; I've known her since I was six. She and her family saved me and my brother, we all grew up together.” She looked back at Clarke, the look on her face softening a little as she met blue eyes that still surprised her whenever she met them, nothing but relieved to be seeing them again. “Even after seven years, I would recognize her anywhere.”  
  
“Me too,” everyone heard, and as one the entire room full of people turned to see someone breaking away from the crowd of servants standing along one wall. Raven grinned as she approached Clarke, and if the situation weren't so serious the blonde would have been rolling her eyes before the other woman said anything else. “I've known Clarke since we were both babies, and believe me Your Majesty, she doesn't have a ridiculous bone in her body. She never would have been any fun if I hadn't taken her under my wing.”  
  
“Raven...” Clarke warned, shaking her head as the other woman just continued to grin at her, but then she frowned as she caught movement behind the brunette. Monty and Niylah peeled away from the wall to follow Raven, Monty looking terrified even as he stepped forward and Niylah glancing back and forth from Clarke to the duchess to the queen.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Niylah said with a curtsy to the woman sitting on the throne, “I didn't know her when she was in Arkadia, but I do know Clarke.” She looked over to the blonde with a small smile. “All she cares about is keeping people safe. She's here right now because you aren't safe, and if Clarke says it's because of the duchess, I believe her.”  
  
Lexa's eyes flickered from Niylah and Monty – entirely surprised to be seeing them in the Great Hall – to Raven and Octavia. Bellamy stood between his sister and Lady Abigail and when she looked at him he met her eyes and just nodded, silently backing up the blonde as well. Lady Abigail wasn't looking anywhere but at the woman claiming to be her daughter, and from the expression on her face Lexa could see she had no doubt in the woman's identity. She'd known from the moment Clarke stepped into the room who she was, but these people's complete and utter belief just reaffirmed that thought, and she sat a little taller in her throne as she turned to stare at her aunt.  
  
Before she could say anything, Cage took another step forward, a sneer on his face.  
  
“Your Majesty, you can't believe anything these people say,” he told her. “They're all just servants and commoners and she,” he threw a dirty look at Clarke, one that made anger begin to boil in Lexa's gut, “ _she's_ just a whore. She's probably slept with half of the younger nobility in this room.” Again a number of faces in the crowd flushed red, many of them looking down. Cage didn't stop, the sneer on his face growing as he looked between all of the people who had stepped up for Clarke. “Hell, maybe she slept with all of them to get them in on her plan. You can't trust a whore, Your Majesty.”  
  
“You trusted me enough to hire me,” Clarke reminded him lightly, giving a little shrug. Eyes all around the room widened, including those of Clarke's supporters but she didn't let any of them get to her. “And just like with the other nobles who hired me, it gave me an opportunity to go through your things after you'd passed out. I found a book of numbers and initials I thought at the time held your gambling debts, but that's not what they were, is it?” She studied his face as his cheeks flushed in anger and then looked between him and the duchess. “You provided the funds for her coup, didn't you?” His face quickly got redder while hers remained cold, impassive, so Clarke kept pushing. “I know you at least paid for my father's death, and paid for the group of mercenaries waiting in the city right now in case you need them for tomorrow.”  
  
“You lying bitch,” Cage spat, hands clenching into fists as he took a threatening step forward. Clarke didn't move but Wells did, placing himself in front of the blonde, one hand dropping down to the sword at his waist.  
  
“You will watch the way you speak to Lady Clarke,” he warned, hatred burning in his voice. From the corner of Clarke's eyes she saw all of the Guards present drop their hands to their own swords as well, as did a number of the nobles standing in the crowd behind Cage, a nervous energy suddenly spiking through the air. She needed to stop this before it could escalate any further and stepped forward, quickly gripping Wells's arm.  
  
“Easy Wells,” she insisted, voice almost quiet from the tension in the room but she had no doubt everyone heard her. Even so she raised her voice a little more as she stared past her friend's shoulder to meet Cage's eyes again. “A traitor's words don't mean anything.”  
  
The anger boiling in Lexa's gut grew with every noxious thing Cage said, and it took every bit of self-control she had not to make him pay for his words right then and there. Even as her anger bubbled hotly another part of her watched, disconnected from the rest of her, and that part nodded towards Clarke's handling of the situation. With her words her man pulled his hand away from his sword and everyone else in the room did the same, the tension slowly easing. It didn't leave entirely, brimming at the corners of the room and waiting to grow again, but for the moment she made herself ignore it, letting herself stare at the man she'd begun to truly hate.  
  
“Lord Cage, you will watch how you speak to people in my presence or you will regret it,” she informed him, her words hard. She gestured to Clarke's supporters then, continuing, “And I don't care what these people's station is; I want to hear what they all have to say.” Her eyes flicked over to her aunt then, hard green meeting icy blue. “Lady Clarke, please continue your story. What makes you believe Duchess Nia planned this conspiracy against me?”  
  
“I heard them,” Clarke answered, turning back to Lexa. The queen wasn't looking at her any longer, her sharp gaze focused solely on her aunt, and Clarke felt a sharp pang grow again in her chest. Behind the even look Lexa clearly tried to give off she could see anger and hurt brimming, and it killed her just a little bit that her words were causing it. That didn't stop her from continuing her story though, taking a silent breath before she said, “Lord Wells and I were waiting for Cage to go to bed, that's when we were going to attack him, but instead people began showing up in his room.”  
  
“And who were these people?” Lexa questioned, still not looking away from her aunt. Neither did her aunt look away from her, and Lexa knew they had entered into some kind of battle of wills.  
  
“Lords Myers and Illen of the Glowing Forest were the first ones that showed up,” Clarke informed her, looking back into the crowd. Both brothers went pale at hearing their names, and she saw their father's eyes widen as he looked over at them. Beside them Finn went almost as pale as his brothers, not able to tear his eyes away from Clarke. “It sounded like their job was to help convince the nobility that Prince Aden wasn't ready for the crown once your were dead, Your Majesty. They were supposed to say that the nation didn't need a child king when they could have a grown queen.”  
  
“Not true,” Illen stated, shaking his head while his brother did the same. “She's, she's lying, Your Majesty. We would never do such a thing!”  
  
“Quiet,” Lexa warned, her voice soft, and it sent a chill up the spines of everyone in the room. Still without looking away from her aunt, she asked, “Was anyone else there, Lady Clarke?”  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Clarke answered with a nod. “I heard a voice I didn't recognize, but somebody used his name while they were talking.” She scanned the room even though it was pointless since she still didn't know who she was looking for. “A member of your Guard was there, a man named Tristan? It sounded like he had been working for the duchess for a while as one of her spies. I think she has more of them in the palace though.”  
  
“What?” Indra snapped, her eyes narrowing. She stepped forward, also scanning the room now, stopping and zoning in on a man standing to the side in the Guard uniform. Clarke followed her gaze to find a bald man with a sharp hooked nose, dark skin now ashen as his eyes quickly glanced from the captain to the duchess. Indra's eyes flashed murder, her teeth ground together as she snarled, “Traitor!”  
  
“Enough, Indra,” Lexa insisted and her captain went silent though her glare never left the other member of the Guard. “What else, Clarke?”  
  
The blonde swallowed, glancing at her mother. What she had to say next might just break her heart, but she knew she had to say it. “Lady Diana Sydney and Lord Thelonius Jaha were also there,” she made herself say, loud enough so she knew the whole room could hear. Her mother's eyes went wide and zoned in on Jaha still standing at the edge of the crowd, Sydney hiding somewhere inside it until the people around her started stepping away from her. Clarke couldn't make herself look over to Wells's father, just stared ahead of her as she informed everyone, “We learned as we listened that it was Lord Jaha who told Cage about my father's trip to visit the Millers. They planned the attack together. Once me and my father were dead Thelonius was supposed to convince my mother to marry him so that the duchess would have another of the houses fully on her side.”  
  
“No,” Abby whispered, her voice breaking. She took a shaky step towards Jaha, her head slowly shaking as though she couldn't control it. “That, that can't be true. You were, were his best friend. How could you betray him like that?”  
  
Sorrow and guilt washed over Thelonius's face, his mouth opening but for a moment nothing came out. “Abby, I, it, it isn't true. How could I...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say, and then looked at Clarke, the young woman's face hard as she made herself meet his eyes. He took a few steps towards her, saying, “Clarke, you know I could never-”  
  
Without warning Wells was in front of Clarke again, only this time his sword was drawn, the point of it leveled at his father's throat with only a few feet of space between them. The metallic hiss of swords being drawn rung out from all corners of the room as every Guard member there drew their sword, but Wells's eyes didn't so much as flicker away from his father's face.  
  
“Don't,” he growled, anger rippling in his voice. “Don't you dare come near her after what you did.” His father's eyes widened and he held up his hands as though he were innocent, hurt flashing across his face. “Wells, son-” he began, but the younger man cut him off.  
  
“I am not your son,” he spat, hatred flashing in his eyes. “You lost your heir the day you became a traitor to the Griffins. Lord Jake was stabbed, his head was cut off, and Clarke was almost burned alive, and it was all because of _you_.”  
  
Clarke could barely focus on the confrontation between father and son happening in front of her. There was one more detail of her story that needed to be told, and the truth tore at her heart like a dagger. She turned back towards the throne, finding Lexa still staring at her aunt, her own focus not broken by what was happening between the Jahas or appearing to care that her entire Guard had their swords out. She knew the queen was still holding her aunt's gaze, could see the anger brewing at the back of her eyes, and felt a lump rise in her throat. Despite it she took a step towards the dais, not caring in the slightest that the moment she did Indra's sword turned to her. She couldn't even begin to tear her eyes away from the queen, her own pain growing as she heard herself murmur, “Lexa, there's one more thing.”  
  
Something in Clarke's voice did what nothing else had in the past few minutes, breaking Lexa's focus from her aunt so that she could shift it to the younger woman. Clarke's face was entirely open to her and Lexa frowned as she read sorrow flash across it, unsure what could possibly be left that would make her stare at her like that. Her heart began to beat a little faster in her chest and she didn't know why, eyes scanning across Clarke's face. The next instant her heart had completely stopped as Clarke told her quietly, “I think there's a reason you never heard anything from Costia, and I don't think you ever will.” Lexa watched, frozen, as the blonde bit her lip, pain joining the sorrow she found in blue eyes staring at her. “I'm pretty sure Nia got to her before she could ever get home.”  
  
The words turned into a buzzing in Lexa's ears, and almost against her will her eyes tore away from Clarke to once again land on her aunt. This time the duchess wasn't even trying to conceal her contempt, the corners of her lips down and icy glare telling Lexa all she needed to know. If she had any doubts about Clarke's story before she no longer did, and all at once she felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach.  
  
Before she could give any order, Illen Collins drew his sword from its sheathe with his brother doing the same just behind him, and then Clarke and Lexa watched as all hell broke loose in the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been accused of loving cliffhangers and in this moment I am admitting that yes, yes I do. ;)


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The internet is seriously such a wonderful thing. Thank you to everyone who reached out with suggestions of how to make my laptop behave, but a very special thank you to kanzhaxhi and handerel on Tumblr! They each took some time to help me figure out what was wrong with my computer and it is because of them that I was able to get this chapter out as normal, so thank you both very much! Now I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

“You fucking _bitch_!” Myers spat, hate shining in his eyes as he drew his sword, turning towards Clarke as he did. “You whore, you ruined everything!” His head swung around to look at the side of the room, and then Clarke's heart started racing in her chest harder than ever as he yelled in a voice that rung out through the room, “Attack!” Soldiers wearing the green and purple tunics of the Glowing Forest house broke away from the wall, their swords flashing in the light as they drew them. More people threw off the palace uniforms they had been wearing, their house colors beneath them, and stepped forward as well, armed with knives and swords.  
  
“No!” Lord Emerys bellowed, his drawn sword striking out without much thought for the people around him, aiming for his oldest son. “Soldiers, to me!” Unfortunately for him the Glowing Forest soldiers in the room appeared to be loyal to his son, as not one of them changed their course. He lashed out violently with the intention of piercing through Myers's midsection but the heir managed to get his own sword up in time to block it, the first scraping of steel grinding on everyone's ears.  
  
As the crowd rushed to give the dueling father and son space and avoid being impaled themselves, Nia continued to glare up at Lexa on the throne. “Ontari,” she called, voice just loud enough to be heard over the clashing of swords behind her, and the knight seemed to appear behind her out of thin air. “It looks like our plans have changed.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” Ontari replied, arming herself as she spoke, and then she raised her sword up above her head, drawing almost every set of eyes in the room to her. In a voice that would make any battlefield general jealous, she bellowed, “Soldiers, fight for your queen!”  
  
Before Clarke's eyes, chaos descended, people screaming as even more soldiers appeared from the sides of the rooms. Wells shoved her behind his back, eyes darting around the room with his sword raised in front of him and the next second Bellamy was stepping into place beside him, creating a barrier between the warriors moving forward and her and her mother. Many of the nobles were the ones who'd begun screaming, women and children and many of the men running into each other as they turned to race towards the door, a few people falling down in the mad dash only to be trampled by those also trying to get away. The members of the conspiracy stayed and soon more soldiers were flooding into the room to join them, and with every new enemy Clarke's heart began beating faster and faster. Her mind whirled as the battle she'd been afraid of began to break out, and quickly she scanned the room as her mind whirled.  
  
“Guard, to me!” Indra shouted, lifting her sword and then stepping directly in front of the dais, putting herself between the queen and anyone who might wish to harm her. “Protect your queen!” Lincoln immediately moved to stand by her, his sword already out as his eyes quickly scanned the room for the nearest threat. The majority of the Guard moved to join them or to intercept the soldiers going to their nobles, but a couple held back, Tristan among them. Indra's eyes flashed at the traitors, her heart singing for their blood, but she didn't break rank, holding her spot in front of her queen until she could be sure she would be safe.  
  
“Behind me!” Anya demanded, one hand grabbing Lexa's shoulder and yanking her to her feet, sword already in her other hand. “You too Aden!” The prince quickly rose out of his chair and joined his sister, arming himself as he went, and Lexa swore at herself for not having her own sword. For once she hadn't worn it to the audiences and she suddenly felt naked, unarmed and wearing an ungainly dress. She grit her jaw and glared past Anya's shoulder and over her Guards' heads, finding her aunt now behind her own wall of soldiers, already staring back at her. In a clash of ringing metal the two lines of fighters smashed together, many of them bellowing roars as they swung their blades through the air.  
  
Clarke was breathing quickly but didn't even notice it as she drew her own sword, fingers immediately gripping its hilt tightly.  
  
“Where's Cage?” she yelled, turning her focus back to the room in front of her. She found Myers and his father still locked in battle while Finn fought with Illen, his face still pale. Monroe and both of the Millers were fighting against a few of the soldiers as were some of the other nobility while Jaha and Diana both directed their own soldiers where to go. Some of Diana's moved over to where the small Arkadian party had huddled together while Jaha sent his to help with the attack on the queen, and then Clarke was trying to see past swords biting and swinging through the air as Bellamy, Wells and Octavia intercepted Diana's soldiers. Mount Weather soldiers were among the fighters, many of them attacking the Guard in the room or keeping more of the Guard from entering, but for a few seconds Clarke couldn't find their lords anywhere. Finally her eyes caught on a couple of people fighting their way towards the main door, both Cage and his father striking against anyone who tried to stop them.  
  
“No,” she growled beneath her breath, the words lost in the chaos of the room, “you're not getting away. Not now.” Without any warning she stepped to the side, popping out from behind the wall of friends in front of her in a mad attempt to stop them from escaping.  
  
“Clarke stop!” she heard Bellamy yell behind her, but she didn't turn around. Just at that moment one of the soldiers saw her and attacked, his sword coming at her from overhead, and she raised her weapon up just in time to catch it. His blade screeched as it slid across her own and then she lashed out, the edge of her sword just managing to bite into the flesh at his side before he could jump away from the attack. Without any warning Wells was with her, his own sword moving faster than hers could, and while the wounded man tried to step back it lashed out, piercing through his abdomen and coming out on the other side. Wells lifted his foot and braced it against the man's hip and pushed, forcing the spluttering man off his weapon. He looked over at Clarke and she pointed towards the doorway she could see Cage and his father slipping through.  
  
“I'm not letting them get away!” she exclaimed, determination in her expression, and rather than argue he just nodded. “Agreed,” he said loudly, and then he called over his shoulder, “Bellamy, Octavia, Raven: protect Abby!”  
  
“On it!” Octavia yelled back, even as her own sword bit into an attacker's bicep, tearing through flesh. “Make it hurt, Clarke!”  
  
“And don't get hurt!” Bellamy added, unable to look towards them as he parried with a soldier in a gray and black tunic, the Ice Nation's colors.  
  
“Clarke!” she heard her mother exclaim, terror in her voice, and the blonde winced before chancing a look back over her shoulder. Her mother's face was pale but she had a knife in her hand, the weapon obviously shaking. Raven stood beside her and Clarke was impressed to see she'd grabbed a lit candelabra almost half her size from somewhere and was brandishing it as a weapon. Two of the five candles had fallen out but the other three still sat snugly in their holdings, tiny flames somehow still flickering at their ends. Niylah and Monty stood on the other side of her mother, knives in both of their hands that they'd probably stolen from the kitchen, and when she happened to meet Niylah's eyes the other woman just nodded at her.  
  
“Go on Clarke,” she said, her voice eerily calm but the blonde could still make out the fear in her eyes. “We'll help them protect your mother.” Monty nodded beside her and then darted forward, sinking his knife into the neck of a soldier who'd just swung at Bellamy. The man hadn't even seen him coming and spluttered as the weapon sank at least three inches into the soft crook of his neck before Monty quickly pulled it out again and stepped back to join Niylah. Clarke could see how pale he was but he never held back, eyes constantly moving as he tried to take everything in.  
  
“Be careful,” she just said to them all, giving them all one final look, and then without another thought she ran forward, Wells right beside her. They only made it a couple of yards before a Glowing Forest soldier cut them off, but Wells didn't hesitate with his strike. He brought his sword in on the man's left and the second he moved to block it Clarke's sword slid out between them, slicing through the muscles of his thigh. The man buckled under the injury, one hand clamping against his leg to stop the bleeding, and while he was distracted the two raced around him. Every few yards someone would step into their way and slow them down, but each time they took the person down, either injuring or killing them when there was no other option. They fought their way to the giant doorway on the other side of the room, Clarke's thoughts never straying from finding Cage, and finally the two pushed their way out into the hall. People bumped against them as they either ran out of or into the Great Hall, but Clarke just looked around the chaos, searching for any signs of her target. She found a soldier in Mount Weather colors standing partway down the hall, looking nervously towards the door and then over his shoulder and guessed his lords must have just passed him.  
  
Just as she was about to lead the way after them, a hand reached out, grasping Wells's bicep tightly, and they both turned to see Thelonious exiting the room behind them. Wells ground his teeth and flexed his bicep, forcing his father to release him, and Thelonious's eyes darted between them, a pained look tugging at his expression.  
  
“Wells, stop, please,” he begged, his focus now entirely on his son even as he held his sword out between them. “You have to understand, I did this for the good of Arkadia.”  
  
“No, you did this for yourself,” Wells growled, both hands now gripping the hilt of his sword. “It was all for power, wasn't it?” He spat to the side to tell his father what he thought of that, and the pained look on his father's face intensified.  
  
“You weren't supposed to get hurt,” he said, desperately trying to justify himself. “No one else was supposed to get hurt!”  
  
“Just me and my father, right?” Clarke spat, grinding her teeth together, and Jaha looked over at her, wincing as he met her eyes.  
  
“I didn't want either of you to have to get hurt,” he replied, sorrow coloring his tone that made Clarke want to throw up. “Jake was my best friend, and you, you were like a daughter to me.” He shook his head, his voice dropping a little as he added, “You have no idea how much it hurt to do it, but for the good of Arkadia I had to. Nia was going to expand our land, give us better resources for our people!”  
  
“You believed a snake like Nia and became a snake yourself,” she growled, inching forward. “You're the worst kind of traitor.”  
  
Jaha opened his mouth to give some kind of retort, but Wells didn't give him a chance. All at once he rushed forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc at his father, and Thelonious was only just able to block it before it bit into the side of his neck.  
  
“Go Clarke!” Wells shouted, pulling back just so he could attack again. With the second attack he began forcing Jaha back in the opposite direction from where the Wallaces had disappeared, freeing Clarke to follow them. “Find Cage and make him pay for what he's done!” he yelled, swinging at his father again and Thelonious took another few steps back. “I'll take care of this.” Jaha stumbled to avoid his strike and Clarke didn't hesitate, quickly taking off down the hall. She looked back over her shoulder for just a quick second to look at the father and son and then back towards the doors, hearing the mad clashing of weapons striking each other and people screaming, and then she turned, looking nowhere but forward as she took off after the Wallaces. 

***

Battles are never stationary; it was a lesson Lexa had learned during her brief time at war, and it was a lesson she relearned in this moment. She had started up on the dais, a line of Guardsmen around her and Anya directly in front of her, but the battle had shifted in only a few minutes. They were no longer standing near the thrones, now on the floor with everyone else, and she knew Indra was trying to direct them to a door, or to at least get a wall at their backs. They were moving slowly though, having to fight for every step they took, and Lexa had a hard time seeing past her circle of protectors to know how the rest of the room was doing. A moment ago she'd been able to sneak a peak through a momentary space on her left to grab a look at the Arkadians gathered in the corner, and her heart jumped to her throat as she noticed Clarke was no longer standing with them. Before she could get a better look one of her aunt's soldiers had attacked from that direction and the Guard closest to them had shifted, blocking her view.  
  
Her hands continually clenched into fists, her palm tingling as it itched to close around a weapon. Her protection was good, certainly better than any other in the room, but she still hated being unarmed. Twice already an enemy had managed to break through the circle around her for just a few seconds, their swords leveling at her. Anya had caught one of them and Aden had caught the second, and all Lexa had been able to do was duck and throw a couple of punches as her brother's sword blocked the attackers. The contact she'd made with the man's nose and the satisfying _crunch_ she'd felt beneath the blow made her feel a little better, but overall she knew she was useless at this moment. Just because she was the queen didn't mean she could cower away as others fought to protect her, and her own uselessness stoked the fury she felt splitting her chest. The only other one not armed was Titus, the man stuck in this circle with her, but rather than be afraid she could see his own rage building in his eyes. When another soldier attacked one of the Guards at their rear he struck out, grabbing the man by his tunic and limiting his movements so that the nearest Guard could open his gut.  
  
“Traitorous bastards,” Lexa heard him growl, pushing back against the man's shoulder to send him toppling backwards. The queen's eyes widened as she saw his sword slip from his fingers, and she quickly stepped backwards rather than follow Indra.  
  
“Lexa, what the fuck-” Anya shouted, sword swinging up to catch a strike from above, and the Guards at the back of their circle tried to shove her back, but the queen pressed on, too stubborn to leave the available weapon behind.  
  
“Get her the damn sword!” Indra bellowed, seeing her movements from the corner of her eye, and one of the Guard stepped just far enough away that the queen could slip through the circle and beeline for the weapon. “Get the fuck back here!” the captain screamed at her, whirling around, but Lexa made a grab for the sword instead. Her fingers closed around its hilt just in time as two soldiers bore down on her, one in the blue and gray of Arkadia and the other in purple and green. Somehow her blade caught them both but the Arkadian pulled away only to immediately turn into another attack while the Forest soldier's sword kept the queen's trapped. She ducked away from the attack, the blade missing her shoulder by no more than a couple of inches, and then before the Arkadian could try to attack again another sword caught it, forcing it back. Lexa saw Anya out of the corner of her vision, dark fury on her face and the knight's sword became a blur in the air as she flew into one attack followed by another, the Arkadian desperately trying to defend against each one. Lexa felt the corners of her lips pull up and the look made her own opponent's eyes widen, and then she was attacking almost as quickly as her best friend.  
  
“I should have let them kill you for that,” Anya growled beside her, no sense of her exertion coloring her tone as her entire body moved with her attacks. “What kind of idiot move was that?”  
  
“I'd rather be an idiot with a sword right now than wise without one,” the queen answered, her tone even as she stepped away from her opponent's sword striking towards her. Her blade wrapped around the man's and with a flick of her wrist – the move one the knight beside her had taught her years ago – she sent his sword flying. Now unarmed the man didn't hesitate, just threw himself at her, and she dodged it and then sliced into his side when he couldn't back away fast enough. Before he could go anywhere else she quickly stepped into his space, bringing the hilt of her sword down harshly against his temple and all at once he dropped, unconscious. She stepped back and looked up just in time to see Anya's blade slice across her own opponent's throat, dark red blood immediately spurting out and covering the blue tunic, turning it black before his body even hit the floor.  
  
“And we'd all rather you be a live queen than a dead one,” Anya snapped back at her, taking just a second to wipe her blade on the back of the man's tunic, sending a glare at the brunette. Lexa was already glancing around the room, finally able to get some kind of look at things. Mayhem was everywhere, people fighting in every corner and blood splashing onto the floor as bodies dropped, dead or seriously wounded. She found people who before this moment had been friends locked in battle together, fathers and sons and brothers fighting each other, and her stomach rolled. “Not everyone,” she murmured, eyes flashing around the room, stopping when she caught sight of her aunt standing in much the same place as she had been before the fighting had broken out. Her own guards surrounded her as well, Ontari at their lead, and Lexa's hand that wasn't holding her sword clenched into a tight fist, her fingernails biting into her palm.  
  
“We have to get the duchess,” she told Anya, nodding past the Guards still standing in front of her towards her aunt. “She's the one who started all of this, maybe if she drops the rest of them will put down their weapons.”  
  
“That's wishful thinking, Your Majesty,” she heard Lincoln say, her line of protection standing just a couple of feet in front of her. He didn't look back at her, didn't take his focus from the action in front of them for even a second. “Unless you die, they all know this either ends with their death here and now, or with the executioner. Not many people make the choice to die a traitor's death.”  
  
“They're all traitors,” Indra spat, glaring around the room, searching for one traitor in particular. She found him not far from the duchess and her soldiers, three other Guards with him, and hatred boiled over in her gut as her free hand curled into a tight fist. “I will make sure their deaths are painful, no matter where they die. Guard, forward!”  
  
As one the line moved forward, its ends curling back slightly to protect the queen and prince from the sides. This time they didn't form entirely into a circle though it was close to one, and Anya and Lexa stayed at the back, hacking at anyone who tried to come at them from that direction. They slammed into anyone who tried to attack, years of endless drills molding them into a small formidable army as everyone else in the room fought as single soldiers. Indra shouted her orders, catching everything around her, and her people followed them without needing to think, the perfect unit. Lexa's heart beat faster as they went, a strange sense of excitement flooding through her at the beauty of their movements. Her adrenaline spiked and as more people rushed in to attack she let that adrenaline fuel her, every movement feeling concise and deliberate.  
  
Finally their line smashed into Nia's, and the energy in the room doubled. Clashing and screaming and grunts of pain showered down on them, making Lexa's ears ring until she thought it was all she'd ever be able to hear again, but at the same time she completely ignored it. She turned, catching her aunt's eyes between the moving bodies between them, and pointed her sword at her.  
  
“Nia Glace!” she shouted, her voice somehow ringing past the rest of the noise in the room. “You are guilty of attempting to commit treason! Lay down your weapon now, and I may have some leniency on your fellow conspirators!”  
  
“Never!” her aunt screeched back, and Lexa caught a craziness in her eyes that almost had her taking a step back. “That crown belongs to me! This nation is mine, and I will take it!”  
  
Lexa stepped towards the Guards in front of her, not taking her eyes off her aunt. The fighting between the soldiers standing between them seemed to slow down as the queen said, “Then fight me. One-on-one, just you and me. The winner will take the throne.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Anya hissed beside her, but Lexa still didn't take her eyes off of her aunt. She saw Ontari step out in place of the duchess, declaring, “If you want to fight someone, you can fight me.” Lexa moved to accept but Anya stepped forward before she could, her sword already lifting as she leveled it at Nia's most trusted follower. “No,” she growled, eyes piercing into Ontari's, “you're mine.”  
  
The stand-still that had taken over broke immediately after Ontari leapt forward, brandishing her sword, and at once the two lines of soldiers fell against each other again. Lexa growled between grit teeth as she fought to get past them and to her aunt fruitlessly. Behind her own soldiers she could see Nia just watching her, hatred brimming in her icy stare, and Lexa returned it with a burning glare of her own.  
  
One way or another she was going to get through these lines and to her aunt, no matter what. 

***

_Shitshitshitshit_.  
  
The word played as a loop in her mind as Harper's heart ran wildly in her chest. Leave it to her to get trapped in the middle of what had to be the largest room she'd ever stepped foot in as an honest-to-gods war broke out around her, armed with nothing more than a heavy wooden tray. She stepped and side-stepped and sprinted away but people were fighting all around her, sharp weapons flying from every direction and every time she thought she'd found a path to safety it somehow got blocked by yet another pair of bodies struggling with each other. While she hadn't yet been a direct target for any attacks she'd narrowly avoided impalement twice now and didn't know how much longer she would manage to get lucky. She needed to get somewhere safe immediately.  
  
The gods didn't seem inclined to answer the prayers she was furiously thinking, her stomach sinking as she turned and found a man who must have been working for the duchess running towards her. He was only steps away with his sword already raised and she knew she had no way of dodging the attack this time so she cowered behind her tray, her last line of defense. It would never hold up under the blow of the blade but it was all she had so she hid behind it and clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pain to hit her.  
  
Instead she heard the man let out a wet gasp, more surprise than anything else, and slowly Harper peeked over the top of the tray. She found her attacker standing only a couple of feet in front of her, his eyes wide as he stared down at his abdomen, hands grasping at the front of his tunic as blood freely flowed from a very fresh wound. Harper could see the tip of a sword sticking out of the man's abdomen and felt her eyes go nearly as wide as the man's, until the sword disappeared and then he swayed, falling to his knees a second later. She tore her eyes away from the man to find Monroe standing behind him, her sword dripping dark blood, and the knight smirked at her as she quickly stepped up behind the enemy she just took down.  
  
“Hey there, beautiful,” she said with a grin, eyes flashing at Harper. “Now might not be the time to be wandering around alone. It's gotten a little crazy in here.” Even as she spoke she grabbed the man's hair with her free hand and tilted his head back before drawing the edge of her sword across his throat. Bile built up in the back of Harper's throat as she watched blood spew from the opening, a few drops of it managing to hit her skirt, but she swallowed it down and looked back up at the knight, the woman's grin never once fading and her eyes not leaving the blonde's face.  
  
“I noticed it got a little busy,” she replied dryly, deciding it would be better not to look back down at the man as his body crumpled to the floor. “For the first time in my life I'm wishing I knew how to use a sword.”  
  
Monroe's grin grew and she stepped over the corpse, setting herself directly in front of the other woman. “Tell ya what, for now I'll make sure mine protects us both.” She flashed her a quick wink and then nodded towards one corner of the room, adding a touch more seriously, “Let's get you over to your friends. Looks like the Arkadians have secured a corner where you should be safe.” Somebody's dying scream pierced their ears, another body slumping to the floor not too far away, and Monroe winced. “Alright, as safe as you can be until this is all over.”  
  
“Works for me,” Harper agreed instantly, her adrenaline pumping too quickly for her to even really notice her fear. At the moment it was just a thing on the outskirts of her awareness, overpowered by the sights and sounds and smells of battle around her, but the moment everything calmed down enough for her to actually take stock of herself she knew she would be shaking uncontrollably.  
  
The knight nodded to her and then looked around, eyes honing in on the younger Miller fighting beside his father and Marcus Kane not far away. She waited for a second until there was a lull in their fight and then brought a couple of fingers to her lips, letting out a piercing whistle. Nathan Miller glanced over at her and she gestured to the corner again.  
  
“Let's go!” she called to him. “It looks like the others could use some help keeping your lady safe!” He nodded to her once, catching an opponent's swing, and then quickly pushed them away, leaving the woman open as Kane took the opportunity to slide the edge of his sword along the back of her knees. The three lords made their way over to the two women and then all five of them continued toward the corner where the rest of the Arkadians had gathered, the knights all circling around Harper to keep the unarmed woman safe. It took more than a couple of minutes to make their way over safely but finally they trapped the few soldiers who'd been in the process of attacking Bellamy and Octavia between the siblings and the nobles, quickly taking them all down.  
  
“Abby, are you alright?” Kane practically shouted, his voice hoarse from yelling and grunting non-stop since the commotion started. Bellamy and Octavia let him step by them to move over to her, his free hand instantly grabbing her arm as he scanned her face for any signs of injuries.  
  
“I'm fine Marcus,” she assured him, scanning him in return but not saying anything about the small cut that had opened along his right cheek or his bruised knuckles. As soon as she'd made sure no lasting damage had been done she turned to give both of the Millers their own once over, but both men just set themselves up in line with the Blakes, the wall between the lady of Arkadia and their enemies now twice as strong. Monroe joined the line as well as soon as she'd made sure Harper was safely behind it, and then she flashed her grin up at Abby.  
  
“It's a beautiful day for a good battle, don't you think Lady Abigail?” she asked lightly, still grinning as she stepped out of the line just long enough to meet an attacker head on, feigning to one side and then letting her sword take them by surprise on the other. The woman in the Ice Nation colors fell, injured but not dead, and she kicked her wounded side to make sure she stayed down before returning to the line.  
  
“Monroe, you're having... too much... damn fun with this!” Bellamy grunted, catching a man's sword and having to push back heavily to drive him away from their line. He parried as the man attacked again and then his foot shot out to wrap around his opponent's, tripping him up. The other man fell to the floor and Bellamy's sword quickly followed, driving through his thigh and causing the man to shriek before he clutched at his leg and rolled away.  
  
“I don't know Bell, I think she's got a point,” Octavia argued beside him. A fire sparked in her eye and a moment later her own opponent went down, her sword slicing at his side while her fist broke his nose. Pulling back she flexed that hand, one corner of her mouth tugging up into a smirk. “You gotta love a good fight.” She and Monroe shared a look, their smirks equally as terrifying, and Bellamy felt a chill run down his spine.  
  
“You two should not be friends,” Raven mumbled from beside Abby, looking back and forth between Octavia and Monroe and Bellamy nodded his agreement.  
  
With the addition of four more fighters to their corner, the attacks died down for a minute and they were all able to catch their breaths again. Abby's eyes glanced around the room, desperately trying to take everything in. She could see the queen and the duchess's forces coming head-to-head in the center of the room while any number of nobles and soldiers fought on the outskirts of it, but no matter how hard she searched she couldn't find the one person she couldn't stop worrying about.  
  
“Where's Clarke? Where'd she go?” she asked, voice shaking. She'd lost sight of her only moments after she ran after the Wallaces and now the mad thudding of her heart had so much more to do with not being able to find her than it did with any of the events happening around them.  
  
“I saw her go after Cage,” Monroe answered, pointing to the door at the far side of the room. “The coward ran and she followed him.”  
  
“I have to go after her!” Abby exclaimed, about to push through the line of warriors in front of her but Marcus grabbed her arm and Bellamy stepped directly in her path to block her.  
  
“No Abby, it's not safe. Arkadia needs you.” He could read the debilitating fear in her expression, heard it in her voice as she told him, “My daughter needs me more!” She shook her head, her fists trembling at her sides. “I just found her again Bellamy, I can't lose her. Not now, not again!”  
  
“You won't,” Octavia assured her, turning to catch the lady's eyes. She held them, her expression nothing but serious, and then she looked over at her brother. “We'll find her.”  
  
“You stay here Abby,” Bellamy said even as he nodded his agreement. He looked from Kane to the Millers to everyone else around her. “They'll keep you safe, and we'll bring Clarke back to you.”  
  
Abby looked like she was about to argue, her fists clenching even tighter, but finally she nodded. Her lips pressed into a hard line and she held Bellamy's gaze before turning to do the same with Octavia. “Be careful,” she nearly whispered. “Both of you. And just... just bring her back. Please.”  
  
The siblings both nodded their promise and then quickly left while the immediate area in front of them was still clear of enemies. Monroe and the older Miller filled in the space they left behind and they didn't look back, beginning to make their way across the room.  
  
They didn't get very far before the fighting found them again. A pair of soldiers – Arkadian, they were unhappy to see – came at them, one with a sword and another with a spear. “Enough!” they heard Abby shout behind them, obviously hoping that they would listen to their true leader, “I order you to stop this, now!” To no one's surprise they ignored her, apparently loyal to Sydney or Jaha, and the siblings quickly defended themselves as they bore down on them.  
  
It took a minute or two, but finally they managed to fight the two opponents back, Octavia slicing the man's abdomen open while Bellamy opened up a long gash from his attacker's shoulder to the opposite hip. The man and woman both dropped and the siblings kept going, able to get halfway across the room before they were stopped again. This time they only had to trade a couple of blows with a soldier wearing the dark blue and gold of Mount Weather and an Ice Nation soldier before a couple of Palace Guards took over for them, redirecting their opponents' energies. They kept going a few more steps before Octavia stopped in her tracks, reaching out and grabbing Bellamy's arm to force him to a stop too. He shot her a look, the adrenaline coursing through his system from the fighting making him scowl as he growled, “What, Octavia? We gotta go.”  
  
“Bell, look,” she just said, nodding over to the side, and he followed the motion to find the few remaining nobility in the room only a few yards away. To his surprise Philip Hyll was there with his father, the two holding back a few of the duchess's soldiers, while Lord Emerys continued to hack at Myers, not holding back at all. Not far to their side Lord Finn fought Illen still, and even as they watched they could see the older brother bearing down on the younger, Finn's legs shaking as Illen tried to force him to his knees. Finn dropped to one knee and then just managed to roll away before his brother could follow through with his attack, but the Blake siblings could see just how heavily he was breathing as he tried to force himself back up to his feet before Illen could right himself again.  
  
“He's going to lose,” Octavia shouted over the noise of the battles around them, looking quickly back to her own brother. “If he does Illen might get away.” Bellamy knew what she was really saying without needing to hear her say it and nodded to her once.  
  
“Go,” he said, “make sure he doesn't.” He grabbed his sister's hand before she could tug it away and leave him, gripping it tightly as their eyes met. “Just be careful, got it?” She scanned his eyes for half a second before giving him a little grin and squeezed his hand right back.  
  
“Don't know what you're worried about,” she joked, dropping his hand, “I'm always careful.” She nodded then, just a tad more serious. “You be careful too.” He returned the nod and then she was off, her sword striking out to catch Illen's just before it could smash into Finn's.  
  
As much as he felt worry begin to gnaw harder at his gut, Bellamy didn't let himself stick around to see how she did against the older man. Instead he continued on his way, stepping around dueling partners, shielding himself with his sword against other attackers and dodging anyone who tried to get in his way. He was almost to the door again when he stopped, his fingers gripping his sword more tightly than ever. Just off to the side of the doorway he found a man fighting a Guardsman, his blue and gold tunic clearly telling everyone whose side he fought for, but what Bellamy's attention pulled to was the double trimming along the edge of the shirt. He had an instant suspicion of who the man was, and in that instant he felt the white-hot heat of rage zip along his skin. He waited for a second, shifting slightly as he weighed his options, but when the Guardsman fighting slipped back and the captain's sword pierced through his side, Bellamy's mind was made up.  
  
“Emerson!” he shouted, voice carrying the few yards over to the man and when he looked up Bellamy knew his guess had been right. The Mount Weather captain and accomplice to Lord Jake's murder turned around to face him, eyes scanning his face. Bellamy's fury boiled over into an all-time high and he took a single step towards him, his sword raising between him. “You're responsible for Lord Jake's death.”  
  
“I followed my orders,” the older man replied without hesitation, not even a hint of remorse in his tone. He shifted towards the Arkadian, just barely lifting his sword higher in front of him. “Your lord's dead, get over it.”  
  
Bellamy's nostrils flared, his teeth grinding together. He took another step towards the captain, saying, “Maybe once you're dead, I'll be able to.” He could just barely hear the man's scoff over the noise around them but Bellamy didn't think anything of it; without another word he jumped forward, going on the attack.  
  
_Sorry Clarke_ , he thought as his sword struck against Emerson's, _Looks like you and Wells will have to take down Cage on your own. Good luck_.  
  
All further thoughts left him as he forced his focus onto his fight, having time for just a final short prayer to the gods to make sure she would be okay. 

***

By the time she got to the end of the first hallway, Clarke could barely hear the sounds of fighting anymore, just tiny clashes of swords able to make it this far. As she ran away from the Great Hall she passed soldiers and servants rushing towards it, most of them members of the Guard hopefully going to defend Lexa but others who weren't, and every now and then someone would pass her in the colors of one of the conspirators' houses. Each time they did she longed to reach out with her blade and stop them, to hack at their knees until they couldn't run anymore or dig deep enough into their sides that they would have to see to their own injuries before they could go attack anyone else. The idea that any one of them might be the warrior who got through the Guards' defenses and took out the queen gnawed at her, but she knew she couldn't take the time to stop them. Cage already had a head start on her, and she had no idea exactly where he'd gone so she couldn't afford to waste anymore time. Besides, Lexa had Indra and Anya and Lincoln with her, had practically an army whose sole job was to keep her safe, and Clarke had to trust that the Guard would do just that. With those thoughts in mind she kept going, her feet carrying her further and further away from the fighting.  
  
She got to the end of what felt like an endless hall and had to stop, quickly glancing around her. Cage could have gone in one of two directions and she had no idea which, unable to find any sign of him either way. Her heart raced as her mind whirled, desperately trying to think of what to do, but then her focus zoned in on movement as a door to her right just barely shifted. Instantly she went to it, gripping her sword tightly, and then yanked it open, immediately bringing the weapon up in front of her. A couple of terrified serving girls shrunk back away from her, both of them shaking and skin bone-white as they huddled together. Clarke lowered her sword a little but couldn't take the time to feel sorry for them, asking quickly, “Did you see which way Cage Wallace went?”  
  
“Wh-who?” one of the girls asked, her voice shaking nearly as badly as her body, and inside her head Clarke heard a voice scream in frustration. She forced herself to take a breath, making herself calm down just a tad, and then asked a little more gently, “Cage Wallace, the heir to Mount Weather. I know he came down this way, did you see which way he went?”  
  
The younger girl pointed a trembling finger towards the right fork in the hallway. “T-two men passed this way just a couple of minutes ago. We were hiding when we saw them coming.”  
  
“Did they say where they were going?” Clarke wanted to know, her voice inadvertently rising again as her adrenaline spiked. She could catch up if she was only a couple of minutes behind them, but she had to get going. Both girls shook their head and she didn't say anything else, taking off in the direction they'd pointed. This way made sense, a voice in the back of her mind decided, the Wallaces were probably trying to leave the palace. With all the commotion in the Great Hall, now was the perfect time to try to get away. If they made it to the courtyard they might even be able to find some horses, and if that happened there was an even better chance they'd disappear before anyone else thought to look for them.  
  
With that thought in mind Clarke pushed herself harder, her feet now slapping against the floor almost as quickly as her heart raced against her chest. She couldn't let Cage get out of the palace; she wouldn't spend another day of her life searching for him. This all needed to end today, right now, and she would make sure it did.  
  
Hoping that her suspicions were right, Clarke raced down halls and around corners, trying to make her way to the front gate as quickly as possible. She passed even fewer people now, all of the Guard likely having made their way to the Great Hall by now and any servants who were left probably locking themselves away until the fighting was over. The empty halls took on an eerie quiet, the air around her far too still, but Clarke barely noticed. She just kept going until she turned the final corner, the front doors of the palace in front of her, and instantly slowed down when she found someone standing in front of them. Clarke eyed the man over, a certain reservation rushing through her.  
  
“Lord Dante,” she called, carefully approaching the old man. He stood directly in front of the doors, a sword held in both of his hands, and briefly she wondered if he would even be able to lift it. Its tip rested against the floor at the moment but he appeared ready, never once looking away from her. She could see pain and guilt shining openly in his expression, but he remained where he was. “Move, please.”  
  
“I can't do that, Clarke,” he replied, regret thick in his voice. As she stepped closer she could see tears brimming in his eyes, and for a second her heart ached for him. “He's my son. I know what you want to do. I can't let you.”  
  
At that her heart hardened, a scowl growing along her expression. “Your son killed my father. I can't let him get away with that.”  
  
Dante shook his head, guilt gripping him. “You can never begin to know how sorry I am for you,” he told her, and from the quiver in his voice she could tell he meant it. “If I had known what he was doing...” He trailed off, eyes clenching shut as he shook his head. “I always knew he wanted more, but I couldn't have guessed what he would do to get it. Nia saw what he wanted and promised to give it to him.”  
  
“You can't just blame the duchess,” Clarke said, taking another couple of steps towards him. There were only a couple of yards between them now, close enough that either could launch into an attack without much trouble but neither did. “Cage made his choice to help her, and then he made the choice to send mercenaries after me and my father. He killed dozens of innocent people, and he's going to pay!”  
  
The lord's expression twisted with guilt, the thin skin at his neck bobbing as he swallowed thickly.  
  
“It is a father's duty to raise his child well, and his duty to protect his child.” Dante stood a little straighter and then lifted the sword, using both arms to leverage it up from the floor. It surprised Clarke how easily he lifted it considering its size and his age, but then she remembered that like most male nobility, this man was a knight as well as a noble; likely he'd been able to wield a sword far longer than she'd been alive. “It's clear that I failed on the first one but I won't on the second.”  
  
Without another word Dante lunged forward, only his old age slowing him down at all. Clarke's blade rose to meet it and she forced it to the side, the steel of the weapons shrieking as they struck against each other. She stepped back and then thrust her sword at him, feeling herself hold back as warring emotions swarmed inside her. He caught her attack and then fell into his own, and for a few long drawn out seconds Clarke panicked. Fighting him was easy after training against Wells for years, his moves solid but slow with very little power behind him. She nicked him once, twice, hoping that the minor injuries would make him fumble or fall back, but neither of them did. Instead it felt like he just fought harder, attacked with more force, and though they were still easy enough to block against Clarke couldn't decide what to do.  
  
Dante had done nothing wrong. There was no proof anywhere that he had ever known about his son's involvement in the duchess's coup, and unless he was a better actor than Clarke believed his reaction to finding out only made that more obvious. Not only had he done nothing wrong, he had been _kind_ to her. Ever since the first time they talked at one of the queen's earlier parties, he had treated her with a respect that few other nobles ever had. He'd never let her profession keep him from treating her like an equal, like a person, and she had always genuinely enjoyed their conversations. All he'd ever wanted from her was to talk about art or for her to take him where he could buy paint and canvases; he was one of the more innocent people she'd ever met. Dante didn't deserve this, not what his son was putting him through or anything to do with this fight, and she hated the idea of hurting him. Now he was standing in her way though, possibly the last obstacle in her search for Cage, and every second she wasted in this fight was another second her real target was getting further away. She lunged at his legs, hoping if she injured them he might fall to the side and she could get by him, but he blocked it, the clash of steel ringing out.  
  
“That won't work, Clarke,” he told her, the look in his eyes telling her he knew exactly what her thoughts were. With a surprisingly strong thrust he pushed her sword away and thrust his weapon towards her chest, and it was only a quick step to the side that managed to save her. “You're going to have to kill me if you want to get to my son.”  
  
He meant it: everything about his expression and his stance showed her that, and her heart squeezed in her chest. For a moment she wavered, her hands shaking, and then all of a sudden an image flashed across her mind. She saw her father tied to a chair, saw a knife stabbing into his chest over and over as the blood began to turn his night shirt black, and fury turned her vision white. This time when she jumped forward she wasn't holding back, her sword flying once, twice, three times forward in a row, coming in from a different angle each time. Dante caught the first two, his movements just a hair too slow, but couldn't quite catch the third. It knocked his sword out of his hand, the weapon clattering to the floor, and Clarke dared to think that maybe that was it, there was nothing else she would need to do. Instead Dante rushed at her, bending as he went to grab his sword, and she reacted on a mixture of instinct and the blinding rage still swirling inside her. Before he could fully reach down her weapon shot out again, catching him in the abdomen, and she watched in horror as his body sunk onto it.  
  
Dante's eyes widened a fraction at the pain, glancing down at the weapon sticking into his abdomen, and then when he looked up again he met Clarke's eyes, faded blue meeting piercing blue. It shocked Clarke when she caught those eyes soften, and then to her further surprise Dante pulled himself away from the blade. Dark blood raced down his front and stained his silk breeches, and the next moment he was coughing, frothing red bubbling at his lips. He started swaying and Clarke reached out, catching him before he could fully fall, and then gently she lowered him to the floor. She didn't even realize she was crying until she saw a tear drip to his cheek, and her brow furrowed further as his lips curled gently up at her.  
  
“...It's better this way,” he told her, his voice weaker than it had been a moment ago. “I couldn't have stood to see my son's death, and we both know he won't get away with what he's done.” He coughed again and the blood dripping from his lips increased, slipping down the sides of his chin. “A parent should always go before their child.” Dante patted her arm, a fresh bout of guilt washing over his expression. “I truly am sorry about your father, Clarke. Wish I could have stopped it...”  
  
“You didn't know,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little as another tear rolled down her cheek. “It wasn't your fault.”  
  
“We're all responsible,” he replied, closing his eyes briefly before looking at her again, “when something like this happens. All of us.” His breathing became more labored and Clarke looked down to see the puddle of blood beneath him growing. “I should have... done something...”  
  
“You didn't fail, Dante,” she told him, keeping her voice low. “Cage failed you, not the other way around.”  
  
She had no idea if he heard it; just like that his breathing stopped and his body went still, going entirely limp in her hold.  
  
Clarke bit her lip to hold in a sob and then gently reached out, carefully closing a dead man's eyes. She couldn't take the time to mourn a good man's death but promised herself she would do it later as long as she survived this, and then shifted him off of her lap. The knees of her breeches were soaked with his blood but all she could do was ignore it as she stood back up, re-establishing her grip on the hilt of her blade. What she hoped was her last obstacle between her and her true target no longer stood between them, and she felt her expression set, a fresh burst of anger re-fueling her.  
  
Cage had a lot to answer for, and she would make sure he did. 

***

Indra's Guard beat against Nia's soldiers, each side gaining and losing advantages in turn. The walls between Nia and Lexa didn't give, the queen constantly on the lookout for a way for her to slip between both lines in order to get to her aunt while the duchess almost never tore her eyes away from the brunette. Lexa swung and hacked at any opponent she could manage to get to but Nia remained back, as though she were cut off from the fighting. Seeing her only made Lexa even more furious, wondering how someone could think they deserved to be queen when they couldn't even get their hands dirty. To her utter surprise she watched as Roan approached the duchess, his drawn sword stained red like everyone else's, glaring harshly at the older woman.  
  
“Mother, stop this!” he demanded, fury making his voice shake. “This is madness!”  
  
“This is us taking back what is mine,” Nia replied, her voice hard. “I won't stop until I have my crown!”  
  
“None of this was ever yours!” Roan shouted, and even as Lexa parried against a woman wearing Mount Weather colors her eyebrows lifted as she listened. “What you're doing is treason!” From the corner of her eye Lexa noticed her aunt give some of the soldiers nearest her a nod, and then they were turning against Roan.  
  
“Keep him busy, but don't hurt him,” she ordered, barely even looking over as the three soldiers descended on him at once. “Someday he'll be your king.” Roan had to act fast to block the first attack and then he was too busy to try to argue any further with his mother.  
  
“Traitor!” Lexa heard hissed and then shifted to see Indra jump at Tristan, the tide of the battle finally throwing them together. The way she came down on him, sword moving so fast it was nearly a blur told everyone around her she'd been waiting for this, and a bit of space cleared up around them as Tristan desperately blocked her attacks. No one wanted to be near the Captain of the Guard when her rage finally boiled over, and Lexa thought that maybe even some of the loyal Guardsmen might be suddenly feeling sorry for the other man. Two of Tristan's friends – fellow Guardsmen who clearly had also been working for Nia – hesitated but then they tried to step in to help. Before they could Lincoln intercepted them, his own sword striking out too quickly to quite follow. He didn't let the two men by, kept them distracted as Indra went after Tristan.  
  
“I'm going to make sure you regret turning on the queen,” Indra growled, a hellish fire burning in her eyes. Tristan gulped but didn't slow down as he fought back, doing his best to push through her offense whenever he found a chance to land a blow. Indra seldom gave him one, her body moving just as swiftly as her blade.  
  
The queen turned back to look in front of her and caught sight of another battle others were afraid to go near. Anya and Ontari came together ferociously, every movement meeting a counter movement, and Lexa could have sworn she saw sparks flash as their swords crashed against each other yet again. Both women were breathing quickly now, their chests heaving, but as far as the queen could tell neither of them even noticed. Ontari spun around Anya, pushing off of their locked blades, but before she could get behind her the other knight had turned, already prepared for the attack she threw at her. Anya tried to slip her blade beneath Ontari's but the dark-haired knight caught on a half a second too quickly and yanked back, smirking at the blonde.  
  
“You really think a rookie move like that is going to trick me?” she taunted, lifting an eyebrow, but Anya didn't fall for the bait. Instead she remained focused, eyes constantly moving and searching for any opening, any indication Ontari might not be able to block a blow to a specific area. Unfortunately for her the other knight was just as well-known for her fighting as she herself was, which meant she wasn't prone to leaving any openings for her opponent. If she wanted to win this fight she was going to have to work for it, and fight harder than she had in a very long time.  
  
A Guard to Lexa's right grunted and her eyes quickly shifted away from her friend to the man, turning just in time to see blood-soaked steel pulling back away from the Guard's shoulder. A long gash had been left behind, red liquid freely flowing from the wound, but he just winced as he kept fighting. The injury was enough to slow him down just a hair more than he could afford, and Lexa watched as the same sword came at him again. Her hand lashed out to grab the back of his tunic and yank him out of the path of the blade at the same time another sword came up to catch it. The Guard stumbled back and they both looked at the small opening in the line he'd left behind, finding Aden stepping into the spot with his sword still locked with the opponent's. Lexa's heart jumped to her throat at the sight of her little brother squaring off against an enemy and she prepared herself to jump in to defend him, but before she could the prince pulled his sword back just to attack lower, coming in just beneath his opponent's guard. The Ice Nation soldier hunched over as the first few inches of the blade pierced through his gut, his sweaty skin instantly going white. Aden drew back his weapon and watched the man carefully, on edge in case the soldier still had enough energy to throw another attack, but the man began to lean to the side and one of his own people grabbed at him, shoving him out of the way. At almost the same moment the Guard on the prince's other side nudged him back and took his place in the line, and rather than fight Aden just moved back.  
  
“That was well done,” Lexa told her brother, reaching out and gripping his shoulder. He looked up at her and she could see from his thin lips and pale skin how scared he was, but he didn't let it affect his posture. Aden shook his head and then used his sleeve to wipe at his forehead, sweat trickling down from his hairline and forced a half-hearted smile at her.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, giving her a little nod. He then looked over at the Guardsman still beside them, the man using his belt knife to hack a strip of cloth away from his tunic. “Are you alright Diaz?”  
  
“I'll be fine,” Diaz growled, tearing a long strip of cloth free. He placed his knife back in his belt and then began to try to patch himself up one-handed. Lexa held out her sword to her brother and then took the cloth from the Guardsman. “Here, let me. Aden, keep watch.”  
  
“Thank ya, Your Majesty,” Diaz told her, giving her a nod that was supposed to take the place of a bow. She just nodded in return and got to work tending his wound and the man held perfectly still, not so much as wincing again as she added pressure to the deep cut and tied the fabric in place. He would need a healer as soon as possible to really address the injury but the queen doubted he had any intentions of leaving the fighting.  
  
As Lexa worked Diaz nodded to Aden.  
  
“You did good work with that 'un, Your Highness,” he said, glancing at the tip of the boy's sword, red droplets now dripping to the floor by their feet. “You did Anya and the Captain proud with it.” From the corner of her eye Lexa saw her brother smile a little more genuinely, just a little bit of color returning to his complexion. She finished her work and then stepped back, taking her sword when Aden held it out to her.  
  
“That's as good as it'll get for now,” she stated and Diaz flexed the arm attached to the injured shoulder and then rotated it. The queen almost winced for him but his expression didn't change.  
  
“Again, thank ya Your Majesty,” he repeated and then he lifted his sword again and stepped forward, returning to his place in the front line. She watched him go, envious when those already standing there just shifted as soon as they realized who he was and made room for him. That's what she needed to do, needed to find a way past her own protection and through Nia's so she could get to her aunt. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, glaring between the Guards' shoulders and through both lines.  
  
Aden saw the glare and followed her gaze.  
  
“You want to go after her,” he said, not needing to ask, and her shoulders squared as her head tilted back.  
  
“This is a fight that should be between me and Nia,” she growled, anger rising in her tone. “I just need to get to her.”  
  
He stared at her for a second, eyes flickering over her face, and then stood up a little straighter. “I'll help you get to her,” he decided, lifting his sword again as she turned to look at him, a little surprised. He met her eyes and then held them, saying, “But you better win.” She scanned his face, reading determination in the set of his jaw and flash in his eyes, and slowly let a ferocious grin grow along her mouth. “I intend to,” she promised and he nodded, turning back towards the line of Guardsmen.  
  
It took a few minutes, the two siblings really only getting anymore blows in when an opponent's reach managed to make it past the people stationed in front of them, but then two of the Guards were stepping out of the line, advancing as the soldiers they fought against were forced to take a few steps back. Aden jumped on the opportunity, running forward before the surrounding Guards could fill in the space, and slammed into the Ice Nation soldier trying to fill in for his comrades. Lexa followed quickly on his heels, catching the sword of another Ice Nation soldier who tried to help attack her brother, and let her blade fly in front of her. She could feel the Guards behind her desperately trying to get to her, to pull her back behind them but she forced herself forward before they could. With a burst of energy she pushed her opponent back behind his own line, briefly looking over his shoulder to see her aunt's eyes widen as she took a quick step back. Lexa growled, surprising even herself when the noise ripped from her throat, and a second later her sword slid past her opponent's defense, biting deep into his thigh. When she yanked her sword back blood spurted from the wound and the man collapsed, screaming and clutching at his leg. She just stepped over him, no longer capable of thinking about him as her entire focus shifted to her aunt, now only a few feet in front of her with no protection between them.  
  
“Now we end this,” she growled, raising her sword again, and she watched as all the color drained out of the duchess's face.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

In their own corner of the Great Hall, the Arkadian lords and Monroe continued to fight against the enemies that came at them, Abby, Raven, Niylah, Harper and Monty behind them. Not a single one of them was unarmed, and none of them just stood around waiting for the fighting to be over. Whenever an unlucky individual started to break between the line of knights any one of the people behind them would rush forward, Abby, Niylah and Monty with their knives, Raven with the candelabra and Harper with her tray. The tray and candelabra had been used to bash against more than one head or hand already, while each knife was tipped with dripping blood.  
  
Abby scanned the vast room, trying to gauge the tide of the battle. She found Octavia fighting against Illen Collins and Bellamy advancing on a man dressed in Mount Weather colors, and forced down a wave of nausea at the thought that Clarke and Wells must still be alone. Her one solace in all of this was that Madi at least was safe, left back in the rooms the queen had given them. Bryne was with her, and the mother had no doubt she'd barricaded them inside the moment she heard news of what was going on, so at least she knew that one of her daughters was safe. Just the fact that she had two to worry about again made it hard to concentrate on anything else, but she shook her head, knowing that she needed to focus if she was going to be any help.  
  
Beside her Raven saw her shake her head and gave the older woman a little grin.  
  
“Don't worry Abby, Clarke's gonna be fine,” she assured her, apparently reading her mind. “She's too stubborn and has worked too hard to let Cage beat her now.”  
  
“She's right,” Niylah, the slim blonde on her other side agreed, not looking over at the lady. Her eyes were trained on the room, as though she were looking for someone or something, but said, “Clarke won't fail.”  
  
“Clarke doesn't fail at anything,” the other blonde woman agreed with a grin, one corner of her mouth curling up. “If she wants something done, it'll get done.”  
  
Abby glanced over at the two women and young man with them, just now realizing she had no idea what part they played in any of this. “And how do you know that?” she wanted to know, and the younger blonde turned to give her another grin.  
  
“We've all been living together long enough, trust me, we know her,” she replied, and then the boy elbowed her in the side, scowling at her. He looked up at the mother, smiling a little as he told her, “We're family, us and Clarke, milady. We protect each other.”  
  
“And Clarke does the most protecting,” Harper agreed before darting forward and slamming her tray into the hand of a woman about to strike Monroe. The knight ran her through with her sword and then tossed Harper a grin that the blonde had no problem returning.  
  
“Sounds like Clarke,” Raven muttered on Abby's other side and the mother's heart squeezed as she nodded. Yes, that sounded exactly like her daughter.  
  
Trying to push thoughts of Clarke out of her mind for the moment, Abby returned to scanning the room. She found the queen past the duchess's defenses and felt a shift in the energy in the air as the young woman stalked towards her. The Guards were racing forward to distract Nia's soldiers so they wouldn't interfere, and Abby thought she saw a spark of fear cross the duchess's face. Good.  
  
Beyond the queen and duchess she saw Myers and Illen still fighting against their father and Octavia, Finn jumping in every now and then but now mostly just trying to catch his breath and watching. The brothers seemed to be slowing down, their breathing labored, and while Octavia so far looked to be doing well Emerys had a long gash that ran down from his forehead to his cheek. Abby wondered how he could still be moving so well with blood clearly dripping in his eye, but nothing in his movements made it look like it was affecting him at all.  
  
Looking back to the people in front of her, Abby stilled when she caught a glance of someone from over Marcus's shoulder. Diana Sydney stood about halfway down the side of the room, a few of her own Arkadian soldiers with her, and Abby noticed her pursed lips as she watched the queen stepping towards the duchess. She didn't look at all happy about this turn of events, and seeing her Abby felt hot rage flood over in her stomach.  
  
“Marcus, David,” she said to the two lords in front of her, and both glanced over their shoulders at her, at the moment not having to defend against an attack. She nodded down the room, indicating the other Arkadian lady. “We need to get Diana. We can't let her or Thelonius get away.” She scanned the room again quickly, not finding the other man anywhere, and felt bile rise up in her throat. Maybe he'd already gotten away.  
  
“Agreed,” Marcus said with a swift nod. He looked at the younger Miller and Monroe, nodding back at Raven and the three others. “You two stay here, protect them.” Both young knights nodded, but Raven shook her head, hands gripping tighter around her candelabra.  
  
“I'm with Abby,” she stated, her tone hard and leaving no room for argument despite the fact she was talking to nobles. “I stay by her side. You don't like it, you can just deal with it.” Both men looked back at Abby who just nodded, knowing better than to argue with Raven and waste time. “Okay,” Marcus agreed, and then he and Miller stepped forward, leading the way across the room.  
  
Most of the focus had turned to the queen and her aunt, so it barely took them any time to close the gap between their corner and where Diana stood. She caught sight of them when they were only a few yards away, shouting an order at the three soldiers standing around her. All three shifted in their stances, attention drawn away from the queen's fight to prepare themselves against the two knights. Abby didn't look at them, instead looking past them at Diana and shot her a look.  
  
“This is over, Diana,” she called, her brow furrowing. “You shouldn't have betrayed the queen, or Arkadia.”  
  
Diana gave her a snide look, not backing down by even an inch.  
  
“Nia understands what it means to be a queen, a leader.” Her gaze dropped to Raven still standing beside the lady of Arkadia and she made a face. “She doesn't waste her time interacting with _servants_ , and she definitely never treats them like equals. She understands the proper order of things.”  
  
“Keep on talking, nobody cares,” Raven goaded her. “I'd rather be a lowly servant than a traitorous bitch any day.”Anger flashed across Diana's face and then she gave a flick of her wrist, and all at once the three soldiers were running at them.  
  
Marcus and David caught all three of them, drawing them into battle and keeping them occupied. Abby and Raven carefully slipped around them, wary of the many swinging swords, and then kept making their way towards Diana. The noblewoman pulled her knife from her belt and held it in front of her, but she didn't look nearly as tough without any armed soldiers protecting her. From the corner of her eye Abby saw Raven break away from her, giving Diana a wide arc, and for a moment the older woman tried to keep her eyes on them both, posture poised and ready should either of them decide to attack.  
  
“How could you do this, Diana?” Abby asked, trying to pull her attention to her. She took another step forward, slowly slinking closer to the other woman, and the lesser noblewoman sneered at her.  
  
“I told you, Nia understands what a queen is,” she answered, eyes flickering quickly over to Raven and then returning back to Abby. “She punishes those against her and rewards anyone who helps her. She would have made me lady of Arkadia for helping her claim her throne.”  
  
Abby's eyes widened, her jaw dropping just a fraction. “Lady... you wanted to be lady of Arkadia?”  
  
Diana's eyes flashed, contempt filling them. “Why not?” she asked, “I would have made a better lady than you. I never would have spent years shutting myself away from everyone else, never would have bothered mourning for so long.”  
  
Abby drew back, shocked and a little stung by the words. “I lost my husband and daughter. Of course I needed to mourn!”  
  
Diana scoffed, lifting an eyebrow. “Please. He was just a man, and you have another daughter. It was no great loss. Once they were gone you had all the power and you wasted it mourning.” She shook her head as though disgusted at the thought, and something inside Abby's gut twisted, repulsed by the woman in front of her. The two had never been close, only ever really interacting as lord and vassal, but what Diana was saying made Abby's stomach roll. “If you don't understand why I needed to mourn then it's a good thing you never had anymore power. A leader should mourn every loss, especially those of the people they love.” Diana just scoffed again, very nearly rolling her eyes, and Abby lifted her knife a little higher as the other woman moved in front of her.  
  
While the two noblewomen talked, Raven silently snuck around them, glad when Abby was able to pull Sydney's attention over to her. With the two distracted she was able to slip around behind the other woman, and now she edged towards her slowly. When she was only a couple of feet away she called lightly, “Hey Sydney.” She could practically see the woman's surprise as her body stiffened right before she whirled around, and the second she did Raven reeled back and then rammed the candelabra forward. Three of its arms smashed into the woman's face, tearing into her skin and ripping it to shreds. The force of the blow threw the woman to the side, her entire body crumpling to the ground. Raven pulled the candelabra back, grinning a little as she looked down at the woman cradling her face as she laid on the floor. “Surprise, bitch. Your face just got smashed in by a servant.”  
  
“Really Raven?” Abby asked, lifting an eyebrow up at her as she stepped over to them. The younger woman just grinned, giving her a shrug. “What? It seemed fitting.” Abby shook her head but Raven could see the smile trying to tug at her lips.  
  
“Come on, we should find something to tie her up with,” the noblewoman just said, glancing down at the woman still lying on the floor. She could hear angry sobs coming from Diana and red streams of blood flowed through the cracks between her fingers as she grasped at her face. Abby couldn't find it in herself to feel even an ounce of sympathy, and looked back at Raven as the brunette reached out to her.  
  
“Give me your knife,” she said and Abby did just that, taking the candelabra from her, hefting it up a few times to test its weight. Raven knelt down shakily and quickly ran her knife along the edge of her skirt, sawing away a few long strips of fabric from it. “Here,” she continued, standing back up as she held them out to Abby, “let's see if this'll hold her.”  
  
Together the two women rolled Diana on her back, avoiding her feeble attempts to claw at them. They forced her hands together and tied them at the wrists, and then did the same to her ankles just to be safe. By the time they were done Miller and Kane were approaching them and asking for a few strips of their own, gesturing to the soldiers on the floor behind them. All three were still alive, though Abby wondered how long the lanky man with strawberry blonde hair would make it, a deep cut at his side bleeding heavily. Raven cut more strips from her skirt and handed them over, and then the men were tying up the soldiers in the same fashion their lady had been bound.  
  
“Well that's one traitor down,” Marcus stated, wiping his hands together as he stood back up, eyes scanning over the room. “And it looks like the Collins boys are wearing down.” They all looked over to find Octavia hacking away at Illen, the man now barely managing to meet her attacks. He kept stepping away from her, as though adding some distance would save him, but she just continued to bear down on him. Behind them Emerys's sword lashed out at his son, and even from so far away they could see how heavily Myers was breathing, exhaustion licking at his features. They all knew it would just be a matter of time now, and Abby let out a sigh of relief.  
  
“Now we wait and see what the queen does,” Raven said, rolling her wrists a couple of times before she took the candelabra back from Abby and handed back her knife, “and wait until Clarke and Wells come back.”  
  
Abby's heart gave a painful pierce in her chest and she bit her lip, unable to keep herself from glancing towards the large open doors. As far as she was concerned her daughter couldn't return soon enough, and as soon as she did all Abby wanted to do was pull her close and never let go again. 

***

Sunlight momentarily blinded her as she stepped out into the front courtyard, and Clarke lifted her right hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from it. The space in front of her was still, the air hanging as though the very universe was holding its breath, every god watching to see how this moment would play out. Normally the courtyard would be awash in commotion she knew, Guards at the gates and servants moving back and forth as guests made their way to and from the palace. The Guards and servants had all disappeared though, the soldiers likely joining the fight for or against their queen depending on their allegiance and servants probably hiding somewhere for safety. Any visitors had already fled rather than risk accidentally stepping between a warrior and their opponent, and Clarke felt the hair stand up along her arms as she walked down the long granite steps. Only a single person stood in front of her, the man rushing in his movements as he tried desperately to saddle two horses. The animals must have been able to read his anxiety because they pawed at the ground and shifted constantly, making the work harder for the man, and Clarke took that as a small blessing.  
  
“Hold still,” she heard him growl at the beasts as she stepped off of granite and onto solid dirt. Everything about the moment felt surreal, her heart racing faster than it ever had before but the ground beneath her boots anchored her, holding her to this world. Cage continued to fiddle with the horse closest to him and she could see his hands badly shaking as he tried to fasten its saddle.  
  
“You won't need them,” she called out, surprising him and making him jump. He whirled around and she finally caught a look at his face, her eyes scanning over it. For once his normally kept hair hung limply against his forehead and she could see sweat causing it to stick to his skin. His complexion had turned to a sickly shade of white and his dark eyes were now wild as they darted across her face and then behind her. She watched as he swallowed thickly, the motion evident even with the space still between them, and a trembling hand grasped at the sword strapped to his side.  
  
“Where's my father?” he demanded, his voice higher than usual as he continued to look back and forth from her to the steps behind her. Clarke never stopped walking towards him, every step deliberate, and she just shifted her grip on her weapon, the blade moving just enough to draw his attention to it. She watched his eyes flicker down its length and widen at the shining blood still coating the first eight inches of the blade. He went even paler, jaw dropping open and trying to work a few times, no words coming out. As Clarke kept walking towards him he finally tore his eyes away from the sword, an accusing glare piercing into her.  
  
“What did you do?” he hissed, voice suddenly quiet, and she felt her lips purse. “The same thing you did,” she answered, grip tightening around the hilt of her blade. “The only difference is I didn't need to pay someone to do it for me.”  
  
“You...” Cage growled, dangerously quiet. He drew his weapon, holding it out between them, and Clarke just lifted hers a little higher. She only stopped moving when there were only a few yards left between them, and she never once looked away from his face. His jaw clenched together, teeth grinding, before he spat, “You _whore_. What have you done?”  
  
“Exactly what I swore I would do the night I watched two men kill my father,” she answered him. “And maybe a little more on top of it.”  
  
“You ruined _everything_ ,” he snarled, taking a step forward. “I had everything planned out! Everything! And you, you whored your way in and destroyed it all!”  
  
“I would do it all again,” she informed him, mirroring his glare. “Every single part of it. I would do it all a thousand times over as long as it meant I finally got to make you pay for what you did.”  
  
“You're nothing but a cheap whore,” he told her. “I've had you, remember? I know what you are. You think I'd let a whore take me down?”  
  
“I've already taken you down, Cage.” Clarke took a step forward, gesturing behind her towards the palace. “Nia's plan is over: she'll never be able to beat the queen. Any of the conspirators who actually survive today will die a traitor's death by the end of the week.” She lifted her sword and shifted in her stance, fury and a sense of justice digging themselves into her chest. “Don't worry though, you're not going to make it to the executioner.”  
  
As she spoke his rage and fear deepened, ugly lines growing at the edges of his mouth. He was now so pale she'd think he was made of wax if she couldn't see him trembling, but he lifted his sword up to mirror hers. “I'll never lose to a whore.”  
  
Clarke was tired of listening to him try to insult her, tired of hearing his voice, tired of _him_. She'd had enough, and without warning she finally sprang forward. Her sword whistled through the air as she pounced, cold blue eyes never leaving him. Cage scrambled back as he desperately held out his sword in front of him, just catching her blade before it could tear into his neck, and he heard the horses scream at the noise before galloping away. His eyes widened at the force of her attack, clearly never expecting it to be so strong, but Clarke didn't hesitate long enough for him to focus on it. As soon as she felt their swords make contact she was drawing back and attacking lower, her blood screaming for his own.  
  
Cage blocked and dodged as she came at him without holding anything back. Bone-chilling fear crept up his spine as he constantly raced to catch every swing of her sword, blue eyes more terrifying than any he'd ever seen before piercing into him. He couldn't swallow, could barely even think as he tried to keep up, and his heart raced so fast he was sure at any second it would break free from his chest. This woman clearly had every intention to kill him, and if he wanted to survive this he was going to have to fight for his life.  
  
After two strikes right in a row he saw an opening and then did just that. While she tried to right herself he jumped forward, getting in his own attack finally, and Clarke had to drop and roll to get out of its way. She popped right back up on her feet as soon as she was out of harm's way but he ran at her, now on the offense. When his blade jabbed at her shoulder she used her own to knock it away and while she was distracted his fist lashed out, connecting with her stomach. Clarke winced at the force of the blow but didn't let it slow her down, shifting slightly before she was able to find her footing again. When he stepped towards her she quickly spun around him and before he could turn to follow her Clarke's blade lashed out, catching him along one hip. His skin opened, the wound shallow but long, and he hissed at the pain.  
  
“You fucking bitch,” he said from between clenched teeth, murder now in his eyes as he glared at her. “Killing your father was just business but I'm going to enjoy killing you.” He brought his sword down at her head and Clarke dodged it, jumping to the side and then striking again. This time he happened to move quickly enough to catch it, and all at once their blades locked together, each throwing all of their weight behind the move.  
  
“How dare you call yourself a noble,” Clarke spat, leaning in as their bodies nearly locked together. “Nobles are supposed to care for their people, put their duty above everything else, but all you want is more power.” She pushed against her sword, her anger driving the motion. “You're greedy and a coward. Mount Weather is lucky they're never going to have you as their liege lord.” A growl tore its way from the back of his throat and he quickly stepped back. With all her weight pressing against their swords Clarke began to fall forward, and then all at once she felt his fist strike her face. The skin just beneath her left eye opened up, a harsh sting making her flinch, and then she felt blood begin dripping down her cheek and over her chin.  
  
“That's just a start,” Cage growled, flexing his fist. “There's plenty more coming.”  
  
A little bit of blood fell to the corner of her mouth and seeped between her lips, and Clarke just wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. She didn't say anything in response to his taunt, just continued to glare at him as the monster who'd been riding in her chest for years howled its fury. Today was the day she would finally give the beast exactly what it craved, and there was nothing Cage could do to stop it.  
  
To the lord's surprise, the blow didn't stop her. In fact, it didn't even seem to slow her down. She stood staring at him for a couple of drawn out seconds and then she jumped at him again, sunlight glinting off of her sword as it sliced through the air towards him. Cage took a hasty step back to avoid it, but by the time he brought his blade up hers had already moved, coming in at a new angle. He desperately worked to block the strike and then the next one and then the next, his heart rate increasing with every single step either of them took. She moved faster than she should and no matter what he did her sword began to nick at his skin, shallow bleeding lines soon increasing along his arms, shoulders and sides. Every single slice burned like a lick of fire and his entire world became honed in on this woman, this force coming after him.  
  
Every time she attacked Cage somehow managed to catch her blade just in time to save himself, but soon Clarke could see his nice silk tunic stained with blood from every cut she inflicted on him. It was almost a poetic justice, she thought, that his death wasn't coming all at once but rather in small spurts. Let him feel a sting of pain for every person who burned alive in that fire, let his own heart's beating choke him like the smoke choked the innocent. He deserved it, deserved every bit of it, and she let her righteous fury fuel her on. Deep beneath her consciousness she could feel the exhaustion beginning to form, felt its peak starting to worm its way up through her gut, but in this moment she couldn't even begin to notice it. She finally had her father's killer in front of her, finally had her revenge within her grasp, and she couldn't think about anything else.  
  
With his skin opened in more than a dozen different places, Cage's eyes whirled in desperation to find a way around this she-demon coming at him. Every single cell in his body told him to flee, to find a way out, and finally he thought he saw it. As she pulled back to prepare for another attack he jumped to her side, just trying to put space between them. Instead the edge of her sword lashed against his calves and he went tumbling forward, smashing into the packed earth. He couldn't quite catch himself in time to soften the fall and his face crashed into the dirt, blood almost instantly running down his face as he heard a soft _crunch_ come from his nose. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he whimpered, tears running down his face before he even knew they'd gathered in his eyes. He shifted against the ground, looking up at the blonde woman standing over him, the point of her sword leveled at his throat.  
  
“Please,” he begged, more tears falling. He didn't even really know what it was he was begging for but the word slipped out anyway. “Please.”  
  
Clarke stared down at the faceless monster who had haunted her dreams for seven years. Now he had a face and it was covered in blood from a broken nose, and beady eyes blinked rapidly as he looked up at her. “Please,” he begged again and Clarke's stomach dropped. She felt no sympathy for him, couldn't muster up even an ounce of pity for this creature who had let his greed overwhelm him, and it scared her just how hotly her hatred of him boiled in her gut. With a shaking hand she leveled the tip of her sword at his chest.  
  
“You should die in agony,” she told him, her voice shaking. “I should tear you apart. But I'm afraid...” Suddenly her throat burned and she had to swallow, fighting back a couple of tears. “I'm afraid if I do I'll tear myself apart too. I might become someone my father would be ashamed of. And I won't let you do that to me.” Her grip on the hilt tightened and then she pressed forward quickly, thrusting her sword forward and through his chest until she felt the resistance of the earth pushing against it. A low croak broke from Cage's lips, his eyes widening from the pressure of the blade in his chest, and he just stared up at her, unblinking. She refused to look away from his eyes as she pulled her blade back, the scent of iron growing as bright red blood emerged from the new wound, growing darker as more and more of the liquid broke free. Cage's jaw worked a few times, his mouth widening, but no words came out as he continued to stare up at the woman above him. Clarke watched him, waiting, until his chest finally stopped and his jaw went still.  
  
Just like that the monster was dead and Clarke almost felt empty, suddenly too tired to even enjoy the successful ending of her crusade. Her eyes closed slowly, her sword now hanging heavily at her side, and for a second she could have sworn she felt eyes watching her.  
  
“I did it, Father,” she whispered, free hand reaching up to close around her necklace. Its smooth surface felt cool against her hot skin, and she gripped it tightly. “It's over. It's over.”

***

Landen Bauer sat at the foot of his bed, leaning back against his arms as he watched the whore move around his room. He looked forward to getting those plump lips around his cock, to seeing those dark eyes staring up at him as he entered her. Her bushy hair would make a great handle when he turned her over and fucked into her from behind, but for the moment he watched, fantasizing about the next hour. She had something wrapped up in linen she was busying herself with at the desk on the other side of the room, but she kept looking over her shoulder at him, giving him little smirks that went straight to his cock.  
  
“Our lord thought you and your people deserved a treat,” she told him, finally turning back towards him and he saw her carrying what was obviously a fresh slice of bread. It was thick and dotted through with various kinds of nuts, and Landen raised an eyebrow as she brought it to him. “His man said you were doing something so great for them that they wanted to give you something extra for your troubles, so he had us stop by the bakery before we came over. Apparently you deserve this.” She held it out to him and he took it, the bread still warm and soft, nothing like the dense rolls he normally ate. As he took it she slipped onto the bed as well, moving to sit on her knees behind him, and her hands made their way beneath his tunic. “I hate to wait, but maybe I could give you a little massage while you eat? You seem a little tense.”  
  
Her fingers dug a little into the muscle by his shoulder blade and Landen groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the touch. “Mm, fuck, keep going.” The whore tugged at the hem of his shirt and he let her take it off of him, and then groaned as her fingers began to work their way across the skin of his back. They dug and twisted into his muscles, working out knots, and then the heels of her hands pushed against his skin and every movement felt a little bit like heaven. While she worked he ate and the soft give of the bread paired with the wonderful crunch of the nuts made his mouth water. All in all it was a near perfect moment, but as soon as he'd finished eating he was ready for a whole other kind of pampering.  
  
“Enough,” he growled, turning so that he could grab one of her wrists. Those big dark eyes met his and an entirely different kind of hunger filled his gut. He yanked lightly, pulling her back around until she was standing in front of him again. Without any hesitation he untied the front of his breeches and fished out his cock, sighing lightly as the hard shaft sprang out of its confines. “Get on yer knees and get to work. I wanna fuck that pretty mouth a yers.”  
  
The whore didn't hesitate, but she did move slowly. She didn't look away from Landen's eyes, the look in her own and the little curl of her lips just making his cock harder, as she slowly sunk to her knees. Only once she was down did she look away, her eyes trailing to the shaft in front of her face. Landen watched her as she carefully reached forward, fingers closing around the base and then pumping up. He held in a groan at the first bit of contact, the pressure so absolutely wonderful against his aching cock, but it was nothing to the feeling of her lips engulfing its tip. The second he felt wet heat pressed against his sensitive skin a harsh groan burst from his chest and his head tipped back, just savoring the feeling. She took more of him and the wet heat of her mouth forced his eyes closed, head falling back as his fingers instantly tangled themselves in her hair. As she began to bob against him all Landen could do was groan and feel, grinning the entire time. Now _this_ was being paid well for his service.  
  
For a few minutes the mercenary reveled at the mouth on him, sure that life couldn't get any better than this. Before long though he could feel himself beginning to drift in and out of focus, flashes of what was still happening getting stuck between a thickening darkness it took him a moment to even notice. His mind began to feel hazy and his head swiveled on his neck, dipping and then righting itself as though he had little control over it. His hands were still buried in the whore's hair but his fingers couldn't quite grip it, the control needed for such a little action leaving him entirely. Sweat began to break out along his forehead but he didn't think it had anything to do with the whore's mouth, especially as he realized it was no longer on him. Slowly he pried his eyelids open to see the woman sitting back now, using her skirt to wipe her mouth, and when he saw her face she was no longer smiling coyly at him. Now her dark eyes were cold, calculated, and a bead of sweat fully formed and dripped down the side of his face as he met them.  
  
“Y-You...” Landen stammered, his mind fighting through a thick fog as he tried to get his words out. “What did you... what did you do to... me?”  
  
“Nothing you don't deserve,” Luna replied, standing back up. Now she looked down at him and could see the way his head bobbed along his neck as he attempted to follow her movement. When she stood his hands slipped from her hair, falling to the bed and he glared at her, the look not nearly as threatening as she knew he meant it to be.  
  
“You fuckin'... bitch,” he growled and tried to push himself up. His fingers clutched clumsily for the knife at his belt but before he could make them wrap around it she reached into her sleeves, releasing her own knives from the hidden sheathes she often wore against her forearms. Before he could react she had them crossed against his neck, the lethally sharp blades pressing just hard enough against his skin to draw the thinnest lines of blood.  
  
“I have no interest in killing you,” she informed him, staring into eyes that couldn't stay open even with the weapons at his throat. “But try to fight and I will. Even if you don't the City Guard will be here soon to round up you and your people; you'll be dead soon enough. It's up to you how you want to go.”  
  
If he could, Landen would have fought back. A slit throat as he fought for his life was always better than a meeting with the executioner, even if the woman who slit it was a whore. No matter how hard he tried to get himself to focus though he just couldn't do it, the fog swirling in his mind growing thicker and thicker with every passing second. All he managed to get out was another attempted glare before he fell fully into unconsciousness, his body sagging forward. When it did the knives pressed more firmly against his throat, a little more blood flowing as the wounds just barely deepened, but Luna pulled them away before they could do any lasting damage. She shoved his shoulder back and his entire body went with it, crashing into the mattress behind him: he didn't so much as stir.  
  
Luna stepped away from the bed, barely even sparing the man a second glance. They'd put enough nuts and herbs in that bread to keep anyone who ate it out for hours, so she left him on the bed and made her way to the door. By now she imagined many of the other mercenaries would be out as well and her people would be slowly filing out of the inn, but before she could do so she had to make sure everyone else she'd brought here today was safe. She would check each room and once she knew her people had all gotten out she would find Derrick and they could leave too.  
  
Still gripping her knives, Luna made her way to the door, slipping back out into the hall and then closing it firmly behind her. She moved without making a sound, having learned years ago that silence was always safer, and began making her way down the hallway. 

***

Jasper held still as the woman on top of him used his cock for her own pleasure, trying not to let his fear show in his face. The bread he'd brought for her still sat at the table beside the bed, uneaten. He'd tried to get her to eat, to even just have a bite of the drugged food, but she had refused and then just pushed him on his back, loosening his breeches and helping herself to his cock. Across the room he could hear another of the mercenaries fucking into Maya, the man grunting as she played up her moans like every whore knew how to do. He'd at least eaten part of the slice of bread Maya had given him before pulling off her dress and taking his pleasure with her, and that more than anything was what worried Jasper.  
  
He and Maya had chosen to work these two together, thinking it would be safer for them both if they had the option not to split up, but now they were waiting for the man to fall unconscious and the woman to notice. Both of the mercenaries were well-muscled, scars running down their arms and over their chests, and the woman even had a black tattoo etched across the expanse of her right shoulder. It was nothing Jasper could identify, just shapes forming together into some tribal symbol, but it added to her dangerous looks. Half of her scalp was nearly bald, just a fine stubble covering it, while the other half was covered with a few inches of jet-black hair. For the moment she was as naked as Jasper and Maya but they could see a curved sword propped between the bed and the table next to it. Her scars told them she knew how to use it, and Jasper could feel fear building like bile in the back of his throat.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the man on the bed with Maya kept muttering, and when Jasper glanced over he could see the man's brow furrowed in concentration as his hips pumped into her. He had Maya on her hands and knees, his hands gripping her hips hard enough Jasper could see her skin turning pink beneath his fingers. His build was just a little smaller than what Jasper would expect of a mercenary, but just the fact he was here meant he must be a good one. He hadn't bothered getting undressed before bending Maya over, had just pulled his cock out of his breeches and gotten to work.  
  
Even as she moaned dramatically, Maya glanced over at Jasper, meeting his eyes. She looked from them to the bread still on the table next to his bed, giving a pointed look. Jasper just barely shrugged his shoulder, not enough so that the woman on top of him would notice but he knew Maya would. She bit her lip, clearly worried, and then winced as she felt the man behind her begin to slow down.  
  
“Fuck... fuck...” he groaned, his voice lowering, and glancing over at him Jasper could see his head now bobbing, his grip on Maya's hips softening. The man's hips stopped moving and his body swayed, and after just another moment or two Jasper watched him fall to the side, slipping out of Maya as he fell against the bed.  
  
At the man's sudden silence and then the _thud_ when his body hit the mattress, the woman on top of Jasper looked over, her eyes instantly widening when she found her friend passed out. “Elyot, what's with you?” When the man didn't respond she got up, leaving Jasper on the bed behind her and stalked over to the other side of the room. Maya quickly shifted, sitting up at the head of the bed and putting some space between her and the unconscious mercenary.  
  
“He musta fucked Maya so hard he passed out,” Jasper joked, scrambling up from the bed she'd left him on. He glanced between the mercenary woman and Maya, forcing a grin at the back of the woman's head. “Maybe it was just too much for him.”  
  
Dark eyes narrowed at Maya who just tried to flash the woman a hesitant smile as she approached the bed. The woman's eyes shifted back to the man lying on the mattress, his eyes closed but breathing steady if the rise and fall of his chest was anything to go by. She scanned over his body, saying, “I've seen this idiot fuck through three whores without gettin' tired.” She looked back at the whore curled up at the head of the bed and saw the girl flinch and glance away quickly. “I doubt your friend's cunt is that good.” Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what was going on, but then her eyes landed on the half-eaten slice of bread Elyot had left at the foot of the bed. Her eyes widened as she realized what had happened, and then they all seemed to move at once.  
  
Maya could see it the moment the older woman realized what was going on and she shot up, trying to put some space between the mercenary and herself. The woman had left her own sword on the other side of the room but Elyot's leaned against the wall at the foot of his bed and she lunged for it. Jasper saw both women move and panicked, his mind momentarily going blank before he grabbed at the weapon still tucked between the bed and the table. The curved sword was so heavy he could barely lift it but using both hands he managed to get it up. He was still trying to hold it up in front of him when he saw the mercenary lash out with her friend's sword and before he even knew what he was doing a scream ripped out of the back of Jasper's throat. His eyes went wide as he saw the tip of the sword burst through Maya's stomach, surprise flashing across his friend's face. The mercenary ripped the sword back and it disappeared into Maya's body before coming back out from behind her, and Jasper watched as the woman he loved stumbled to the floor, dark red blood already spilling out of the tear in her skin.  
  
“Maya, _no_!” he screamed, barely able to believe what he was seeing. Brown eyes he'd spent the last couple of years loving to look at stared up at him in shock from where she'd crumpled to the floor. She was leaning back against the wall now, one hand pressing tightly against her stomach, and Jasper could see harsh rivers of blood streaming down her pale skin. His vision went red and then without realizing what he was doing he'd heaved the sword he held over his head and was running at the older woman.  
  
The mercenary caught the boy's wobbly strike, Elyot's sword catching the curve of her own. He had no coordination with the weapon but an unbridled fury, and that fury made him attack quickly and harshly. She parried his next attack, barely having to work to push the blade away, but scowled at having her own weapon used against her. The boy swung her weapon at her again and she jumped back out of the way, gritting her jaw at this turn of events. She guessed they weren't the only ones the whores had tried to drug, and she silently cursed Landen for ever bringing them to this cursed city.  
  
As Jasper swung the blade again in a blind rage, the door of the room burst open and Luna rushed inside, a knife in each hand. He couldn't quite make himself look at her, but out of the corner of his vision he could see her scanning the room, taking in what was happening. Her skin went pale when she caught sight of Maya back against the wall, the pool of blood around her only growing, and then in silent fury she darted forward to join the fight. The mercenary caught sight of her knives just in time to dodge the first and block the second, and Jasper used the opportunity to lash out with the sword again. She jumped back but not quite quickly enough, the edge of the blade slicing across her hip in a shallow cut. It barely even made her slow down as she fought against both opponents.  
  
Blades lashed through the air, attacking and defending as three people fought with the intent of killing the person or people attacking them. Jasper's arms screamed at him, the weight of the sword too much for them after so long, but he ignored the fire burning in his muscles. All he could think of was Maya at the side of the room, her blood freely flowing from her body, and all he could see was the red painting the length of the mercenary's weapon. She was responsible for Maya's pain, she was responsible for whatever happened, and he had to make her pay. He didn't even know there were tears streaming down his face as he fought, too intent on killing the woman in front of him.  
  
That same woman kept calm even as her heart raced, eyes constantly moving as she looked for any way out of this mess. If she could get out of this room then she could get away. Fuck Elyot and Landen and the rest of them, all she cared about was her own survival. She searched for any opportunity to break free, and then the boy coming at her with her own sword shifted just right and she caught sight of her best chance.  
  
Jasper shifted, his tired arms shaking as he tried to lift the sword even higher and bring it down on the mercenary's head, but she moved faster, diving in at his unprotected side. Her sword bit into his flesh, opening up a deep gash from the bottom of his ribs to his hip. Jasper gasped as burning heat pulsed at his side and his arms dropped, just managing to keep his hands curled around the hilt of the blade.  
  
Luna saw the line of the other woman's attack just half an instant before it could happen and she leapt forward in an attempt to stop it. She slammed into the mercenary from the side, one knife sinking into the woman's chest while her other arm wrapped around her neck so that the tip of the other knife could stab into the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. She felt the mercenary's body stiffen against her, could see her eyes widen, but before she could do anything else Jasper was lifting the sword again just high enough so that he could hack at her abdomen. The curved blade ripped into the skin of the woman's stomach and tore it open, and Luna yanked her knives from the woman's body as she began to sway, her sword falling out of her fingers and clanging to the floor. She stood upright for another few seconds, blood seeping like a river from her three newest wounds, and then she looked up, meeting Luna's eyes. The mistress held that dark surprised stare for another moment before the woman's knees gave way, her entire body crumpling to the floor.  
  
The second he yanked the sword away from the mercenary, Jasper didn't wait to see what would happen. He let the curved weapon drop from his fingers and raced over to Maya, dropping to his knees beside her.  
  
“Maya!” he exclaimed, grabbing her face with trembling hands and turning it towards him. “Maya, come on, look at me!”  
  
It took a second for her eyes to focus and Jasper's heart beat wildly in his chest, his fear overriding the pain coursing through his body from his own injury. Brown eyes finally met his own and then he felt his throat burn as though he'd swallowed fire as she gave him a tired smile.  
  
“Jasper,” he heard her murmur, her voice far too quiet and that only made his heart race faster. Her eyelids drooped and then rose again, and his thumbs brushed hastily along her cheeks as a couple of tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, the corners of her lips trembling as she kept trying to give him a smile. “I should have been faster.”  
  
“No, no Maya, no, it wasn't your fault,” he promised her, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks again. “I, I couldn't get her to eat, and, and then I didn't, didn't get to the sword fast enough.” He pressed his forehead against hers, only realizing he was crying as well when he felt a tear fall against the back of his hand. “I'm sorry Maya. I'm so, so sorry. Please. You have to, have to fight. Please, please fight Maya.”  
  
She lifted a bloody hand up, lightly running her thumb along his chin. “I'm tired, Jasper,” she whispered, closing her eyes. It was a battle to get them open again, but when she felt him press his forehead against her own harder she forced herself to do it. Dark eyes stared back at her, a pain shining in them that made her weakly beating heart squeeze in her chest. She leaned more fully against him. “It wasn't your fault. Not... not at all. You tried to get her to eat but, but she wouldn't.” He shook his head and held her tighter, more tears spilling over his cheeks.  
  
Luna watched the two, her own tears threatening to spill but they didn't. They would later, she knew, but not until the job had been done and she'd gotten as many of her people home safely as she could. They wouldn't all be returning to The Rig, that much was painfully clear, but if she didn't hurry their numbers would be down by two instead of just one. She stepped forward carefully and then sunk down beside them, her heart giving a painful tug at the large puddle of blood growing around Maya every second. Jasper's wound bled heavily as well, his entire side and thigh stained black now, and she knew they needed to get him to a healer sooner rather than later.  
  
“Jasper,” she murmured, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, “you can't save her, no one can, but we might still be able to save you. We need to hurry.”  
  
He shrugged her hand away harshly, glaring over at her.  
  
“You really think I care?” he demanded, anger and sorrow making his voice break. There was now a streak of blood along his chin from Maya's touch and his tears mixed with it to drip down his neck. “You think I want to live in this shit of a world without her?” He turned back to Maya, shaking his head as he pressed his forehead to her own again. “No. Never.”  
  
His words made Maya frown, and after a moment her vision that kept going in and out of focus fell to his side, finally seeing the blood seeping from his wound.  
  
“Jasper, you need to go,” she said, even her voice weak now. “You can... can still make it.” He grabbed her face, forcing her to look into his eyes again, and both women could see a resolution there they knew neither would be able to break through.  
  
“I'm not going anywhere, Maya,” he told her, his voice shaking but nothing but sure. “I won't leave you. Not ever.” More tears fell down Maya's cheeks but she found herself nodding, grasping his arms with every bit of strength she had left.  
  
Luna looked between the two of them, her throat and eyes burning but knew there was nothing left here she could do. Jasper wouldn't leave Maya willingly, and she knew better than to try to force him away from her; she'd seen that look before and knew there was no use in fighting it. Her heart skipped a couple of beats as she stole herself to walk away from them for the last time, and she closed her eyes.  
  
“It has always been an honor knowing you both,” she said, opening her eyes again after a second. Neither of them looked at her but she could feel them listening. “I will make sure that everyone knows what you did for the nation, and what you did for each other.” Jasper just nodded, his jaw quivering a little but still resigned to follow through with his plan, and Luna gave them both one last look before she stood back up. With her heart breaking not for the first time she turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind them to give them privacy in their last few moments together.  
  
Silence filled the room after Luna left and Jasper could feel his entire body trembling. Worse than that was how clammy Maya's skin had gone, the only color on her now coming from the blood that continued to spill freely from where the mercenary woman had opened her flesh. A fresh burst of pain filled Jasper but he made himself smile, his lips barely even shaking with the effort.  
  
“Come on,” he whispered, sliding his arms beneath Maya's. “Let's get off the floor.” She nodded and let her arms curl over his shoulders, all the energy she could muster, and wished she could help him lift her from the floor. Somehow he managed to get them both up, supporting both of their weight, and then led her over to the empty bed. As gently as he could he laid her down on it and then slid into place beside her. He pulled a sheet up over their naked bodies and then curled up against her, burying his face into her hair. Beneath the scent of blood and death in the room he could smell her own scent from the oils she used in her hair and the touch of perfume she often put on before beginning another day of work. He let the scent bombard his senses and wrapped an arm across her front, just above the wound that was already beginning to stain the white sheet on top of them pink.  
  
“Did I ever tell you what my favorite memory is?” he asked her, and felt her face turn towards him. He looked down at her and found that her eyes were closed but her lips were curled into the softest smile he thought he'd ever seen. “No,” she answered and he closed his own eyes before launching into the story of the day the two of them met. He'd believed his life was ending the day he showed up at The Rig and asked Luna for work, but then he'd met Maya and known it was just beginning. He told story after story of their times together, talking even after she'd gone still beside him, no longer able to listen.  
  
Jasper didn't stop talking until his own heart stopped beating, the last words dripping from his tongue the ones he'd only whispered to her when they were alone, tangled up in sheets just like these ones.  
  
It didn't matter that she wasn't around anymore to hear them; he knew he'd get the chance to say them again to her someday. 

***

Wells honestly didn't know how many hallways they'd turned down, how far away from the Great Hall they'd gotten. His sword continued to catch and block his father's strikes only to then lash out with his own attacks while he ignored his father's pleas.  
  
“Wells, please, listen to me,” Thelonious begged for possibly the dozenth time. Past their flashing swords his son could see the pain in his father's eyes, but all it did was make him angrier. “We don't have to do this. What I did, I know it seems horrible, and yes, it was a little horrible, but it was all for the good of Arkadia!”  
  
“Stop saying that,” Wells grit out between clenched teeth. His father's betrayal had already managed to shatter his heart, and the more and more he tried to justify himself the angrier it made him. “You just wanted more power, just like Sydney.”  
  
Hurt flashed across Thelonius's face as he stumbled back, barely avoiding Wells's swipe at his side. “You can't compare Diana to me. She wanted power, yes, but I wanted Arkadia to expand, to prosper like it could under Nia's reign.” He blocked another swing of his son's sword and then struck out with his own, the motion a little weaker than usual. All he wanted was to hold Wells off until he could make him see reason, help him understand why he'd done what he'd done. “We're small but the duchess was going to supply us with everything we would need to grow, and we _need_ to grow.”  
  
“Why?” Wells demanded, pausing for a moment with his sword still up, catching his breath as his eyes flickered sharply over his father's face. “Arkadia has all the resources it needs, why is it so important that we grow?”  
  
“For our survival, Wells,” his father answered immediately, voice a little higher than normal. “We're tucked between Mount Weather and the Boudalan Mountains with the Trikru Forest not far south; if another war breaks out we could be wiped out. We're lucky we managed to survive as long as we did.”  
  
Wells gave his father a look and shook his head. “The Kongeda is reunited,” he reminded him, disgusted with the answer. “Queen Alexandria managed to do that even while Nia was plotting her conspiracy. Why would another war break out?” His father looked at him as though his time away had made him simple, shaking his head in pity.  
  
“Wells, you and I both know that war is always inevitable,” he said, “it's the nature of man. Everyone always wants more; Nia and Diana are perfect examples of that.” He shook his head again. “One day Alexandria's united nations will break apart and Arkadia will be on its own again. When that happens we should be prepared, and I was going to make sure Nia gave us the resources to make that happen.”  
  
Looking at him, Wells could see he believed fully in everything he'd just said. There was a sorrow eating along the edge of his expression, but far stronger than that was the belief he'd done what he'd must. It made Wells's stomach roll seeing how much he accepted what he'd done and his fingers clenched the hilt of his sword harder.  
  
“I don't care what your reasoning is,” he snapped, taking another step forward. “You betrayed your liege lord. That is unforgivable.” He brought his sword down in a wide arc, aiming for his father's thigh, but Thelonious blocked it just in time. “We owe the Griffins our loyalty: you taught me that. The Sydneys, Millers, Kanes and Jahas: _we_ are their vassals, we all _serve_ them.” Without pausing he tried bringing his blade down in a diagonal across his father's front but Thelonious's sword caught his own and the two blades locked. Wells threw his weight against his father, feeling his fury simmer beneath his skin, as hot as though he were once again standing in a burning building. He pushed himself forward and watched his father strain against him before having to take a step back and felt a small ball of satisfaction uncurl in his chest. He might not have spent the last seven years training against squires and knights but he'd never stopped working, never stopped pushing himself to be better so that he could help Clarke accomplish their goal, and now the strength that had grown inside him slowly began to overpower his father. “I followed Clarke because that was my _duty_. We didn't go back to Arkadia because it was hers to find the person responsible for Jake's death.” His father buckled a little beneath his weight, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “That's you,” he reminded Thelonious, voice harsh, “You are the one responsible. You turned against your lord, your _friend_ , only so you could also turn against the queen?” Wells's stomach rolled again, the sick feeling racing up his throat as he snarled, “There's not a trace of honor in you.”  
  
“Wells...” Thelonious muttered, his expression pained from hearing everything his son had to say. Guilt raged through him and he clenched his eyes shut, his arms screaming as he pushed back against their locked swords.  
  
Suddenly they heard a set of footsteps at the end of the hall in front of them, and their eyes both shifted to see who was approaching them. A man in Arkadian colors raced towards him, his eyes wide and a knife in his hand. “Stop in the name of Lady Abigail Griffin!” he cried as he ran towards them. Thelnious thought he recognized him as one of Marcus's soldiers and resigned himself to defeat, knowing there was no way he would be able to defend himself against both of them, not after already fighting for so long against Wells. He felt himself relax just a little, let up against the locked blades, and decided it was almost a relief that this was all over. He would die by execution, there was no way to avoid that, but at least he'd been able to see his son again.  
  
To both of their surprise, when the man was only a few steps away he turned on Wells, not Thelonious.  
  
“Run, my lord!” he shouted to Jaha, apparently not having any idea what was going on. Wells's eyes widened as the man turned on him, lifting his sword but also reaching out with his free hand. “No, wait, I'm-”  
  
Before he could get anything else out the man struck, faster than Wells was expecting. He couldn't move quite quickly enough after his battle with his father, and even as he lashed out with his sword the man slipped around it. The tip of his knife dug into the side of Wells's neck, ripping the skin open. Shock coursed through Wells in half a second and he dropped his sword as he reached up with his other hand to grasp at the blood now pooling from his neck. His mind went blank, white, and stupidly he reached forward with his other hand. The soldier thought he was attacking and swiped out again with his knife, and this time Wells chocked back vomit as he watched as his first and middle finger were hacked off of his right hand. The man had gotten him at the first joint of both so now just two stubs remained, red blood quickly running over the stubs and across his hand.  
  
“Wells!” Thelonious shouted, instantly jumping into action. He struck with renewed vigor, running the soldier through, surprise breaking out on the man's face before blood began to well up past his lips and drip over his chin. The lord just shoved his sword harder at the man, pushing both he and the weapon away from them, and then ran forward, catching his son as he began to stagger. Quickly he lowered Wells to the floor, one of his hands moving to cover the younger man's and press against the wound bleeding freely at his neck. “Hang on, son,” he whispered furiously, an all new panic tearing at his chest. His voice shook as he held Wells close to him, meeting wide eyes as they turned and looked up at him. Thelonious's heart slammed against his chest as fear clawed its way up his throat, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. “Hold on Wells. Hold on, son.”  
  
Wells could do nothing but stare unblinkingly up at his father as they both pressed harshly against the side of his neck, blood streaming between their fingers. 

***

“Protect me!” Nia screamed, stumbling back as Lexa stalked towards her. One of her soldiers managed to break away from the Palace Guard and run at the queen but Lexa blocked and swung at him quickly, her eyes barely leaving her aunt. She took care of the soldier without any problem, putting him down by running the edge of her blade across the tops of his thighs. He dropped and she stepped over him, glancing briefly down to see blood spilling from the deep cuts. He might live if he got to a healer quickly but Lexa didn't think it really mattered. Even if he lived now he would still die within days anyway; there really wasn't any point in delaying the inevitable.  
  
“It's over, Aunt,” Lexa stated loudly, hard green eyes flashing at Nia as she began towards her again, “you and your conspirators have been beaten. Look around.”  
  
Everyone watching could see it was true. Lady Abigail and the loyal Arkadians had Diana tied up and had pushed her up against one wall to stay out of the way of the fighting; Myers and Illen had finally been beaten, Octavia currently standing over the younger brother with the tip of her sword hovering centimeters away from his neck while Finn worked to tie him up and Myers laid beside his brother, dark streams of blood coursing from a wound in his shoulder. Lexa couldn't see if he was dying or not, but Emerys glared down at his oldest son as though he were debating slicing his neck and ending it all either way. Bellamy still fought with the captain of the Mount Weather soldiers but the older man seemed to be fatiguing with every step he took. Three Arkadian soldiers who must have been loyal to Abby stood around to help Bellamy should he need it, and when Lexa noticed the captain glance around she could see he knew there was no getting away. Behind her her own Guard continued to fight against Nia's soldiers but the fact that they weren't swarming down on the queen meant that her own people had the upper hand. She didn't know what had happened to Cage or Thelonious but in this room it was clear to see the duchess's people had lost, and now it was time to take down the duchess herself.  
  
“Your Majesty!” Lexa heard shouted behind her, and she shifted her grip on her sword before looking quickly over her shoulder. Ontari was desperately trying to get around Anya to protect her queen but the other knight wasn't letting her, her movements crisp and quick to keep her back. As she looked Lexa could see Indra bearing down on Tristan, the man covered now in cuts that bled sluggishly. So far he must have been able to avoid any fatal strike but Indra was clearly making him pay in blood one shallow cut at a time. One of his friends was down, bleeding heavily from a slice across his chest, and Lincoln stalked after the second, eyes never leaving the trembling man's sword.  
  
Movement in front of her made Lexa turn around, and when she did she found her aunt grabbing at the sword of a downed-soldier. She stood back up with her shoulders hunched over, both hands holding the sword out in front of her, and Lexa could see sweat breaking out along her hairline as she struggled to hold the heavy weapon up.  
  
“I won't let you stop me!” Nia cried, hatred flashing in cold eyes. “I worked too hard for this. That throne is mine!”  
  
“No it's not,” Lexa replied, her voice almost even, only a small undercurrent of fury coloring the words. “It never was, and it never will be.” She stalked towards her aunt, anger and adrenaline fueling her, and watched as Nia just lifted the sword she'd taken a little higher.  
  
“Your father was a fool,” the duchess spat. “He never should have been king. He was weak; I always should have been queen over him.” Her eyes narrowed and she took a step forward. “I thought when he died I would finally get my chance, but then they crowned you, an eleven-year-old child over a grown woman.” She shook her head, gritting her teeth. “I could have done so much while everyone was just waiting for you to grow up.”  
  
“Maybe,” the queen stated as she slowly began to circle around the open space. In a room crowded with fighters a bubble had formed where they were, Lexa's Guard keeping back anyone who might think to try to interrupt them. On the outskirts of their circle the brunette could see people watching them, many who had been fighting a moment ago paused now, their breaths held as they watched the two leaders finally come head-to-head. Lexa's fingers clenched around the hilt of her stolen sword again, never taking her focus off of her aunt. “But what you could have done doesn't matter; I am the queen, my father was the king before me, and you have never been more than the second born. You could have done amazing things with what you already had, but instead you decided to plot against your own family.” Her brow furrowed, the corners of her mouth curling down as Nia just glared at her. “You plotted against me, which means you plotted against my people, and I cannot forgive that.”  
  
“Your people?” the duchess scoffed, contempt heavy in her tone. A sneer grew along her lips and Lexa's jaw clenched harder. “You care more about the low-life common filth than the people you should _really_ be focusing on.” Something ugly flashed across Nia's face, something that made Lexa's stomach roll before the older woman was even saying, “After all, you have an affinity for whores and servant girls, don't you Alexandria?”  
  
The words made Lexa's fury boil over, its heat spilling into every cell in her body and her vision suddenly went red. Without warning she flew forward, her sword coming down at her aunt with everything she had. The duchess scrambled to catch the blade, all of the color draining from her face as she strained against the force of the queen's attack.  
  
“What did you do to Costia?” Lexa demanded, eyes wide and piercing as she stared hatefully at her aunt. “Clarke was right wasn't she, you did something to her!”  
  
Despite her fear or straining arms as she tried to hold out against the force of Lexa's attack, Nia's lips curled into an ugly smirk.  
  
“I've had people in the palace longer than you've been alive, niece,” she told the younger woman. “You think they didn't notice your affection for your servant girl?” She let out a dark laugh. “You weren't as good at hiding your feelings as you thought. When she left I had someone I trusted pick her up for me, and then Ontari and I convinced her to answer a few questions.”  
  
The way her eyes flashed and lips twitched at the words made Lexa's stomach drop, fully understanding what her aunt wasn't saying. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest and throat burned at the thought of what must have happened to the first girl she'd loved, and a mixture of guilt and rage raced through her. The rage was far more powerful than the guilt at this moment and it fueled the queen, making her entire body burn as she pulled back her sword only to launch into another attack. Nia hastily blocked it as she stumbled back a step and Lexa stalked forward, her eyes never once leaving her aunt's face as she continually struck out with her blade.  
  
Nia was many things but a swordswoman wasn't one of them. She scrambled to block Lexa's attacks, hauling her sword around in front of her, but the queen's speed and the weight of the sword made it difficult for her to catch them. Before long she was breathing heavily, her usually perfectly sculpted hair flying around wildly as sweat poured down her face. Lexa didn't even notice her own exhaustion, was only able to focus on herself enough to remember not to trip on her own skirts as she stared down her aunt.  
  
“One last chance Nia,” she growled, one hand on her skirt and the other holding her sword up in front of her. “Yield now.”  
  
The duchess's eyes flashed, a madness filling the ice of her stare as her hands clenched more tightly around her sword. “I will never yield to you!” she screamed and then she ran at Lexa, lifting the blade up higher. She brought it down with all her might but Lexa caught it and instantly twisted her wrist, her blade circling around Nia's and popping it from her grip. The sword went flying to the side, crashing to the floor, and before the duchess could dive after it Lexa dashed forward. Her blade entered Nia's abdomen and struck upwards, exiting out her back at a diagonal and the older woman's fingers grasped against the brunette's shoulders, her eyes widening into saucers as she stared at her niece. Lexa didn't look away from her aunt's shocked expression, holding it for a long beat, before she roughly yanked the blade free. She could feel Nia's body shudder as the weapon left her, her fingers grasping more tightly to the queen's shoulders. The duchess just stood there for a moment, mouth hanging open and staring at Lexa as blood poured out of the wound staining her skirts a deep red. Lexa didn't move, didn't so much as look away, the entire moment feeling like time had somehow paused around them, and then she felt her aunt's fingers release her shoulders. Nia took a step back, her entire body trembling, and then when she tried to take another she crumpled to the floor. Her mouth worked, desperately trying to say something, but nothing but bloody bubbles escaped her lips. She stared straight up at the ceiling with wide eyes and Lexa didn't look away from her until she finally stopped moving.  
  
Blood rushed to Lexa's head as she watched her aunt die in front of her, almost making her dizzy. She felt trapped in a bubble of silence, the noise of the room obscured and fuzzy as her focus remained stuck on the dead woman in front of her. A red puddle was quickly growing beneath and around the body and all the queen's mind could seem to process was the thought that it would probably take weeks to clean the Great Hall well enough that no one would be able to tell what had happened here. She could think of nothing but the mess and her aunt until she felt someone touch her arm.  
  
“Lexa?” she heard, and Lexa shook her head, blinking as she was pulled forcibly back to reality. The crashing of metal and screams of dying people filled her ears once again and she turned to see Aden now standing beside her. His eyes were scanning over her, worry etched into his forehead, and she gave him a shaky smile.  
  
“I'm okay, Aden,” she made herself say, and then she glanced back at the dead duchess. She wasn't really sure how she was supposed to feel after killing her own aunt but at the moment she felt strangely at peace. “I'm okay,” she repeated more convincingly and this time when she turned back to her brother her tired smile was more genuine.  
  
With Nia dead, the fighting in the room roared back to life, those who had fought on her side knowing that losing now would only mean a trip to the executioner, but after so long few people still had the energy to keep going. The Guard and those fighting for the queen overpowered those who weren't, and soon soldiers were being forced to their knees, their arms quickly bound behind them. Lexa and Aden remained inside the ring of Guards, watching as the rest of their enemies were brought down around them.  
  
Finally it was all over and Lexa stepped away from her aunt's body. Indra had Tristan lying face-down against the floor, harshly tugging his arms up behind his back while she waited for one of the other Guards to get her rope. From the awkward angle of the man's right arm and the way he cried out Lexa could tell it was broken, but Indra didn't seem to care if her movements caused him extra pain. Not far away Anya kicked Ontari to her knees, the dark-haired knight glaring hatefully up at the queen as she made her way over to them. Her hands were already tied behind her back but that didn't keep her from trying to jump at Lexa as soon as she was close enough. Anya just tangled her hand in the other woman's hair and gave a sharp yank, keeping her in place.  
  
“You're going to have your meeting with the executioner, but that doesn't mean I won't start chopping off body parts if you don't knock it off,” she threatened, twisting her hair. Lexa doubted the threat mattered to Ontari, sure the only thing that kept her in place were the ropes and Anya's grip. Her friend looked up from the prisoner, meeting the queen's eyes and she nodded. “Nice work,” she just said, nodding over to the corpse in the middle of the room. “Trash like that should be taken out as soon as possible.”  
  
“Watch your mouth you filthy bitch!” Ontari snapped, trying to get up again and launch into another attack but Anya cuffed her harshly, opening a cut along her forehead. “Somebody get me something to gag her with!” she called and one of the Guardsmen nearest them quickly began hacking at his own tunic to cut off a strip of fabric.  
  
“Round up any survivors that worked for Nia or a member of her conspiracy,” Lexa told Anya, ignoring Ontari entirely. “I want them all locked up immediately and questioned, especially any of them who have worked in the palace.” She gestured over to Tristan, entirely ignoring the way Indra's knee sank into his back as she knelt against him. “Start with him. I want the names of everyone who worked for Nia and I want them now. Do whatever it takes to get them.” As Anya nodded she shifted her focus up to Indra. “Indra, put together two squads to go through the palace. I want this entire building secure. Have another squad start gathering the injured.” Indra stood up, her back immediately straightening as she looked at her queen.  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” she said and then she turned to scan through the Guard moving around the room. “Diaz, Hennings, Smithson, to me, now.”  
  
As the three Guardsmen made their way to Indra, Lexa turned her sights on Lincoln. He stood only a few feet away, cleaning off his sword but his eyes were already on her. Both of his opponents were down and tied up, though Lexa wasn't entirely sure it was necessary for the man with the wound across his chest; the way it continued to bleed heavily, she wasn't convinced he was going to make it. She looked away from them and scanned over the room, finding dozens of people down, some groaning from pain, others unconscious, and still others undoubtedly dead. “The infirmary will need to be prepped, and we'll likely need more healers,” she said to Lincoln, seeing the man already nodding from the corner of her eye. “Slit the throat of any traitor who needs more than just a bandage; I won't waste good resources on those who will be dying in a few days anyway.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” he told her, sheathing his weapon. He looked to two other Guardsmen, a man and a woman, and gestured for them to join him before he stepped away to do as the queen had ordered.  
  
As she looked around, Lexa caught sight of Lady Abigail and her loyal lords still standing over by the wall with a tied-up Diana, and felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. She'd already noticed that Clarke was still missing and a fresh bubble of fear grew in her chest. Lexa couldn't let herself think of the other woman at the moment, had far too many things left to do before she could succumb to her worry and go searching for her on her own, and forced herself to push it back for now. She continued scanning until her gaze fell on Nathan Miller and Monroe still standing in the corner with Monty, Harper and Niylah, and her expression settled, hands moving to clasp behind her back as she made her way over to them. As she walked she quickly eyed them over, her eyes flicking over their injuries. Monty was wrapping a long strip of fabric that looked to be cut from his own shirt around Miller's right arm, the gash long and deep and already staining the cloth red, but other than let out a small flinch the knight looked to be able to ignore it. Monroe's nose looked broken from someone's well-placed punch and her left eyebrow was split, but at the moment she was too busy grinning at the others around her to care about either injury. As she got closer Lexa could see little cuts and bruises on Clarke's three friends but from what she could tell that was it, and she let out a silent breath of relief that at least they were alright.  
  
Niylah was the first one of the group to notice the queen moving towards them and she elbowed Harper's side, drawing everyone's attention away from the conversation they'd lapsed into when it was clear the fighting was over. They all turned towards the other woman and Miller and Monroe quickly sank into a bow, Monty following behind just a half a second later with Niylah and Harper curtsying at the same time.  
  
“Please, that's not necessary,” the queen told them, shaking her head as she stopped beside them. Green eyes scanned over them all and Niylah met them as she stood back up. “I believe I owe all of you my life,” she continued, her voice carefully controlled but entirely sincere. “Thank you for everything you did here today: if any of you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to come to me. I'm in your debt.”  
  
“We didn't do very much, Your Majesty,” Monroe informed her, giving the woman a smile. “It was mostly Clarke, we just followed her plan.” Miller and Harper both nodded and Lexa had to grip her wrist tightly to make sure nothing showed across her face. Again she couldn't help but wonder where Clarke was and whether she was safe but swallowed her worry down.  
  
The queen opened her mouth to say something else but Niylah's eyes flickered to movement behind her. Up on the dais a woman popped out from behind the throne, and the blonde's eyes widened as she finally caught sight of the person she'd been looking for ever since the fighting had started. Echo held a knife in each hand and as she moved one arm drew back, her attention set solely on the queen. Niylah reacted without thinking even as she watched Nia's spy hurl the first knife through the air.  
  
“Get down!” she shouted, jumping forward and shoving the queen out of the way. She stepped right into the path of the projectile, eyes widening as she felt its blade sink into her back. A second later she felt a second blade slam into her, her entire body jerking with each penetration. For a moment all she could do was stand there dumbly as stabbing pain erupted along her back, her nerves all at once feeling as though they were on fire.  
  
“Niylah, no!” Harper screamed at the same time Indra let out in a roar of fury, “Seize her!” Two Guards raced up to the dais, grabbing the attacker by her arms and forcing her to the ground, Echo not even fighting back as she glared at the woman who had gotten in her way. Harper and Monty both jumped towards Niylah but it was Lexa who scrambled to her, just catching her before she could fall to the floor. Lexa fell with her, her entire body trembling as she cradled Niylah's body close to her, suddenly unable to make her mind work. This other woman stared up in shock as though she almost couldn't believe what she'd just done, and debilitating fear clawed at Lexa's throat.  
  
“It's okay Niylah, you're alright,” she muttered, her hands shaking as she held the blonde close to her. She could feel the knives still embedded in her back and reached for them but stopped when Niylah began to shake her head.  
  
“Don't, don't touch them,” she told her, having to lick lips that had suddenly gone dry. “I think, I think they're poisoned.” Her limbs were trembling hard, her mind foggy, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. She could barely catch her breath, her lungs already ceasing to work, and she had to fight against the panic she could feel setting in to try to think clearly.  
  
Lexa's eyes widened at the statement, her fear only doubling. Her mouth was dry as her mind raced, desperately trying to think of something to do. She looked up, eyes flickering around wildly for help and then cried in a voice that boomed across the room, “I need a healer over here! Now!” People began scrambling around to find someone to help but even as they moved Lexa knew it wouldn't be of any use.  
  
To her own surprise, Niylah felt a chuckle bubble past her lips, and she watched as the queen instantly looked back at her.  
  
“I don't, don't think that will help,” she said, attempting a grin. She could see guilt and terror flash across the queen's face, green eyes full of both. It was almost a relief to see this woman look so human in this moment, and for some reason it made Niylah relax just a little.  
  
“No, no Niylah don't say that,” Monty stammered, dropping down beside her. Harper dropped with him, both of them shaking as their eyes glanced over their friend. Everyone could see the way her chest labored for breath and how her hands trembled at her sides and Monty and Harper reached out, each grabbing one and desperately trying to ignore the dark stain growing ever larger on the queen's skirt. Niylah smiled at them both, her lips just barely turning up as she forced her focus on them.  
  
“You two... don't, don't worry,” she told them, trying to make her smile grow for them. “It doesn't, doesn't hurt at all.”  
  
It was true; though immediately after the knives had entered her agony had torn through her body, now all she felt was numb. Vaguely she could feel her limbs, feel a fuzzy sense that they were still there, but there was no definition to them. Her eyes flickered over to Monty and Harper and down to where their hands held her own, and a tear slipped down her cheek; though sensibly she could see they were gripping her fingers tightly, she couldn't feel it.  
  
“You're going to be okay Niylah,” Harper told her, a couple of tears rolling down her cheeks. “The queen has to have the best healers in the city. They'll, they'll patch you up in no time. Right?” She ended by looking up at the queen, desperation in her voice and written across her face, but she didn't find the assurance she was hoping for. The older woman just stared at her, her lips pursed and sorrow in her eyes and Harper slowly began shaking her head. “No...” she whispered in horror, trailing off as her face fell. More tears ran down her cheeks with no end in sight and she looked back down at Niylah.  
  
“It's okay Harper,” the blonde told her, her voice quieter than it had been a moment ago and the hearts of everyone around her sunk to their stomachs. “It's okay.” Her eyes closed for a second, trying to get some sort of control over her ragged breathing. “I'm... I'm okay.”  
  
Lexa stared down at the woman dying in her arms, her heart beating in her throat. Niylah was dying because of her, because she'd been too stupid to make sure the room was clear of enemies, and the guilt of that truth weighed in her chest until it was all she could possibly feel.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, barely even able to hear the words. “I'm so, so sorry Niylah...”  
  
Niylah made herself look at the queen, finding tears building in green eyes. Somehow she found the energy to shake her head. “Not your fault,” she said, wishing she could swallow and parch her dry throat. “It was my choice, I did it.” Her lips curled up again, this time just for the queen. “It was the right choice.” She had to pause for a second, her energy draining faster than she would have thought possible. She didn't look away from the queen, finally adding, “The nation... needs you.”  
  
“Your friends need you,” Lexa told her, her voice nearly breaking. “My life is no more important than yours.”  
  
“It is,” Niylah argued, giving her a weak nod. “It is.” She let out another little chuckle. “I saved the queen,” she added, lips twitching, “that's more than... I ever thought I'd do.” All of a sudden she gasped harshly, unable to draw any air in, and Harper let out a cry beside her while tears rolled down Monty's face. Lexa gripped her tighter, holding her close, and after a moment Niylah managed to gulp in a breath of oxygen. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice hoarse but her eyes were sharp as they looked up at the queen. Lexa nodded, leaning a little closer to her and Niylah licked her lips, the motion futile but automatic. “She loves you,” she whispered, and she watched as the brunette's eyes widened, immediately knowing who she was talking about. A fresh tear spilled from Niylah's eye as Clarke's face flashed across her mind but she didn't notice it. “I know she does. Don't... Don't let her push you away. She'll try.” Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye, dripping to the floor even as her mouth curled into a soft smile. “She deserves to be loved.”  
  
“I...” Lexa began, unsure what to say to that. Brown eyes bore into her own, searching them, and slowly she nodded. “She does,” she murmured, “she deserves the world.” Lexa watched as Niylah's smile grew, her eyes closing. “...You can give her that.” Her mouth opened and then closed again, nothing coming out but they could all see her throat working. The queen leaned even closer, her ear nearly hovering just over her lips, and even then she just barely heard the small, “Thank you” Niylah managed to get out. The words were nothing more than a breath, and then they all watched as her hands stopped trembling, her chest going still a moment later.  
  
“No... no...” Harper cried quietly before dissolving into sobs. Monroe knelt down behind her, one arm going to her shoulder, and the blonde turned to curl into her, her face pressing into the knight's neck. Monty's arms wrapped around himself and his entire body shook as he cried. Miller hesitated, glancing from the dead woman to the boy, and then he sat, wrapping a arm around Monty's shoulders. Monty looked at him, tears streaking down his cheeks, and then his forehead was pressed against the older man's shoulder as he curled in on himself.  
  
Lexa stared down at the dead woman cradled against her lap, her whole body shaking. A detached voice in her head told her it was shock, that was why she suddenly felt so numb, but that voice couldn't break through to the rest of her as a thick fog filled her mind. Her lips were barely parted, the lower one trembling slightly as the back of her throat burned. Water blurred her vision until colors ran together, and then she felt the first tear fall, gliding down her cheek only to drip down on the dead woman's neck. Blood coated her lap and her fingers and she had to clench her eyes shut to fight down a sharp cry she could feel building in her chest. She'd barely known this woman, had interacted with her no more than a couple of times at most, but this lost tore at something inside her. Lexa had killed her aunt and walked away from the body without feeling a trace of guilt, but now she was holding this stranger in her lap and all she wanted to do was scream at the unfairness in the world. Niylah shouldn't have died, her blood shouldn't be staining the queen's hands, but in this moment Lexa was afraid she'd feel the stick of it forever.  
  
“Clarke,” Monroe murmured and Lexa's head shot up, looking straight at the knight. The blonde was staring straight ahead as she rocked a sobbing Harper soothingly, and the queen followed her gaze to find Clarke stepping through the doorway. From far away Lexa could see bloodstains on her clothes but couldn't tell if any of it was her own blood, and the sight of the other woman instantly made her heart flutter and then sink. Knowing that there was nothing she could do to protect her from the pain about to hit her, Lexa just stayed where she was, waiting for the younger woman to notice them as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. 

***

An exhaustion unlike any Clarke had ever experienced before dragged at her body, having to physically force one foot in front of the other as she finally stepped back into the Great Hall. She couldn't begin to guess how long she'd just stood outside in the courtyard staring at Cage's body, but finally she'd made herself move. She'd left the body where it had landed, unable to muster up the kind of energy it would have taken to try to move it, and decided if the birds got to it before anyone could get outside then so be it. As far as she was concerned he'd earned his death and much worse.  
  
The halls were still just as deserted as she made her way back through them as they had been when she'd been in search of the Mount Weather heir, and she thanked the gods for it; if she'd encountered an enemy during her return trip she knew she never would have been able to fight them off. Her sword hung limply in her hand, only her respect for the weapon keeping her from completely dragging it behind her. She wanted to lie down and possibly never get up again but before she could do that she had to make sure her people were okay. Now finally standing in the doorway with the Great Hall spread out in front of her she stopped, slowly taking in the room.  
  
There was no doubt about it: the Great Hall had become a battlefield and looked like one. As she looked around she found bodies collapsed on the floor, some moving and others lying still. Men and women whimpered or groaned from where they lay, clutching at wounds or weakly fighting as others pulled them up. Guardsmen walked around, beginning to tend to the wounds simple enough they knew how to work with while others walked around with thin ropes or just scraps of fabric and tied up those who had clearly fought against the queen. Any number of people sat or leaned against the sides of the room, catching their breath after a hard-fought battle or closing their eyes to try to get some well deserved rest. Clarke saw more Guard uniforms than anything else but here and there were simple skirts and breeches of palace servants, a few of those people being tied up along with the other traitors while far more of them walked around the room with buckets of water. Each bucket held a ladle and every time they stopped beside someone they handed it to them, each person gulping down the offered drink as though it were the most precious thing they'd ever tasted. Other servants held bandages, only a few so far but Clarke stepped aside as almost half a dozen more servants came in with more rolls of linen. They would help patch as many people up as best as they could until they could get the worst off to an infirmary, and then the healers would have their work cut out for them. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she thought of all the people who wouldn't make it no matter how hard the healers fought, and she bit her lip, already thinking a silent prayer for those they'd lost.  
  
Bellamy and Octavia were among those moving in the room, helping the Guard to tie up their prisoners and Clarke felt a knot she hadn't known was tied in her chest loosen, relief washing over her at seeing both Blakes alive and well. At the side of the room she found her mother and Raven standing with Lords Kane and Miller and another wave of relief washed through her, her heart beating just a little easier at finding her mother and friend also unharmed. She was about to go over to join them, her front foot falling into that first step when her gaze continued on, and suddenly it felt as though someone had dropped a bucket of ice water over her head. At the far corner of the room she found Monty and Harper with Miller and Monroe, her two friends sobbing against the knights. In front of them Lexa knelt on the hard floor, cradling a body against her lap and every bit of oxygen tore violently from Clarke's body as she recognized who the queen was holding.  
  
“No...” she let out in a strangled whisper, not even hearing the single word. The echo of her sword crashing to the floor didn't register in her mind; before she knew what was happening she was racing forward, her exhaustion entirely forgotten as her heart slammed into her throat.  
  
Clarke threw herself to the floor as soon as she was close enough, tears already streaming down her face as she stared at Niylah's unmoving body.  
  
“No no no, Niylah!” she gasped out, the cry tearing from her chest. She couldn't make herself look at anyone else around her, couldn't even begin to tear her eyes away from the blonde woman, and reached out with shaking hands. Her arms slipped around her friend's body, pulling her gently into her lap and then she was curling over the body, tears running down her face to drip onto Niylah's skin. “No, no, wake up,” she begged, her voice breaking and throat burning in agony. “Please. Niylah, please.” She bit her lip so hard it bled, shaking her head. She could feel the knives that had sunk into her friend's back still sticking out of it, felt her blood coating her arms and hands and could only hold her tighter. “Niylah,” she whispered as she bent over, pressing her forehead to the blonde's. Her eyes clenched tightly shut, more tears falling to splash against the other woman's cheeks. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” The words came out as a croak, agony lacing through each one and all she could do was huddle around her friend's body and sob.  
  
“She saved my life,” a voice whispered and Clarke's heart clenched even more painfully in her chest as she looked up, still leaning over Niylah's body. Lexa was still staring at the blonde, a couple of tears rolling down her cheeks. “They were meant for me. She pushed me out of the way...” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, and another small sob broke from Clarke's chest as she finally met green eyes again. They shared something in that look, something Clarke wasn't sure she would ever be able to put a word to, the pain and sorrow each felt mixing with their own guilt. Clarke couldn't hold the queen's gaze for long before she had to clench her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing exactly what she felt in that moment staring back at her.  
  
Her body continued to shake as she pressed her forehead back against Niylah's, eyes still closed. “I'm sorry,” she whispered again, swallowing thickly as she fought to try to get a hold of herself and failed. Clarke's eyes opened and she stared down at this woman who had loved her. If she ignored the blood coating her own arms she could almost pretend Niylah was still alive and just sleeping, and the thought both comforted her and tore at her chest. She pressed a kiss to her dead friend's lips, wishing she could feel them move against her just one more time so that none of this would be happening. “I'm so sorry Niylah.” Her voice broke as she blinked back more tears so they wouldn't obscure her vision. Even now the blonde was beautiful, more than Clarke had ever deserved, and she gently brushed blonde hair away from her face. “You shouldn't... I shouldn't have let this happen. I should have, should have stopped this. I'm sorry.” She shifted the body slightly and reached towards the knives to pull them out, but Lexa's hand against her wrist stopped her.  
  
“Wait,” she murmured, glancing up to meet blue eyes as Clarke looked at her. She looked back down at the two knives sticking out of the other woman's body as she wrapped her skirt around her hand. “She thought the blades might have been poisoned.”  
  
Clarke's stomach rolled and she had to swallow thickly at the thought but she held Niylah gently as the queen carefully pulled both knives out of the body. She set them to the side and then Clarke carefully laid Niylah on the floor, biting her lip again as she stared at her lost friend.  
  
Just as Clarke was beginning to think she might be able to pull herself together enough to turn around and check on Harper and Monty she heard someone yell and then saw a number of Guards draw their swords again, hard expressions turning towards the door. She jerked around to see what they were looking at and felt the air punch out of her again as she watched Jaha stumble into the room, one of Wells's arms slung over his shoulder as his opposite hand clamped down against his son's neck.  
  
“Help us!” Thelonious screamed, staggering as he tried to hold both of them up. “Someone please help my son!”  
  
“Thelonious Jaha you are under arrest for treason!” the nearest Guard roared, leveling his sword at the nobleman. “Kneel!”  
  
“I yield, I yield!” Jaha cried, buckling to his knees, Wells dropping beside him. His voice shook, tears rolling down his face as he shook his head. “Please just help my son!”  
  
Clarke was on her feet again before the Jahas even dropped to the floor, not breathing as she tore across the room. Someone tried to step in her way but she shoved them aside, eyes not leaving Wells's face.  
  
“Wells!” she screamed, dropping down beside him. Her best friend now lay on the floor, both hands clamping around his neck and she could see light trickles of blood seeping from the spaces between his fingers. On his right hand she found bloody knuckles where his first two fingers should have been and if she hadn't been so afraid in that moment she would have been sick. As it was her hands immediately went to cover his and her heart dropped past her stomach as her eyes scanned his ashen face. His own dark eyes were glazed over from pain and blood loss and she could see his eyelids beginning to droop.  
  
“No Wells, stay with me!” she exclaimed, leaning over him as she desperately tried to put pressure on his wound without cutting off his oxygen. “Don't you dare leave me!” Her voice shook, ringing throughout the room and she knew everyone could hear the fear in her voice but she couldn't even begin to care. She leaned over her best friend, the one person she'd always known she could count on, and felt herself tremble as he fought to keep his eyes open. Clarke caught them and held them and before she knew it her head began to shake. “You can't die,” she told him, voice breaking. “Do you understand? I _forbid_ you from dying! Don't you dare leave me!”  
  
As footsteps ran towards them, Clarke watched Wells's lips move, nothing coming out of them for a moment. She had to lean closer until one ear hovered directly over them before she heard in a hoarse whisper, “Yes my... my lady.”  
  
She nodded, heart ramming in her chest as she held onto him, his blood continuing to seep around their fingers as a fresh wave of terrified tears trickled down Clarke's cheeks. Chaos reigned as any number of people moved around them, some going to Thelonious still kneeling near them while others went straight to the two returned nobles, but Clarke couldn't look at anything other than Wells as fear burrowed ferociously into her chest.  
  
She'd already lost enough; she couldn't lose him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, another cliffhanger, but I'm relatively sure it's the last one! Even so feel free to come yell at me (but in reality don't yell, I'm very fragile) about them or just this chapter/the story in general on Tumblr at clarkethewanheda. :)


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

As hectic as the Great Hall had been during the fighting, the infirmary was nearly as chaotic soon after. Servants and Guardsmen helped the injured into beds as the few palace healers ran around, barking orders for buckets of water, endless supplies of herbs and pastes and roll after roll of bandages. When it became clear there wouldn't be enough space to accommodate for all the injured more people got to work clearing out both rooms on either side of the infirmary, stripping down tables and creating as much space for the wounded as possible.  
  
Inside the infirmary Clarke ignored all of the movement around her, unable to do anything but stare at the person in front of her. Wells had been moved minutes after he and Jaha had stumbled into the Great Hall and by the queen's order had been seen to immediately. A heated blade had been used to close up the wound at his neck and bandages were wrapped around the stubs of his fingers and then a special blend of herbs were used in a tea to put him to sleep. Now Clarke sat next to his bed and stared at him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest and could barely move under the weight of her relief. His skin was still clammy and a little ashen and she worried about how much blood he'd lost before they could take care of him, but at the moment at least it seemed like he was going to be okay and that was all that mattered to her.  
  
Clarke leaned over the side of his bed, slipping her hand into his uninjured one.  
  
“We did it Wells,” she murmured as she squeezed it lightly. “We got them.” She tried not to think about the cost of their success, her eyes dry and hurting after crying so hard over Niylah's body and then his own, and bent down until she could rest her forehead against the bed. Every single muscle in her body was tired, her exhaustion fully crippling her, and briefly she considered just letting herself fall asleep right there. It had been days since she'd gotten more than just a couple hours of sleep and the past twenty-four hours were finally starting to take their toll on her.  
  
Just as she was about to close her eyes and try to succumb to the exhaustion pulling at her bones, she heard people approaching the bed and forced herself to look up. Her mother was walking over with Raven and Octavia on either side of her, the older woman's eyes scanning over her face quickly, and Clarke felt her lips curl into a tired smile. Later it would all hit her, seeing her mother again and being able to hold her, but at the moment her mind was just as tired as her body and she couldn't mentally process anymore extreme emotions. Instead she just watched as Abby made her way over, trying to swallow around the heart now beating in her throat.  
  
Abby stopped beside Clarke's chair, taking in every detail of her exhausted daughter. Dried blood stuck to her left cheek from a deep cut just beneath her eye and the area around it had turned into a dark purple bruise. Her short hair was matted, wisps of it sticking to her forehead while dried streaks of blood painted here and there along her face. Her clothes were ruined, torn and dirty and stained dark red at the knees of her breeches and sleeves and front of her shirt. Aside from the marks from the fighting Abby could sense a guard up behind blue eyes she had never once forgotten the shade of, sensing just how different this woman was from the daughter she had lost. Those differences didn't even begin to matter as she leaned over and pulled the blonde into her arms, holding her tightly to her chest. She felt Clarke hesitate for a second and then blood-stained arms were wrapping around her and clenching to her just as tightly, and Abby felt her heart squeeze painfully when she heard an almost inaudible sob break from her daughter's chest. Clarke shook against her just a little as she pressed her face into the crook of her mother's neck and Abby held her ferociously, not bothering to try to hide the tears dripping down her face.  
  
After a few long minutes mother and daughter broke apart. Abby pulled back, one hand going to Clarke's injured cheek and the other lightly cupping her neck as she looked her over. Clarke didn't flinch under the look although part of her wanted to, just staying still while her mother's eyes scanned over her.  
  
“We'll need to get that taken care of,”Abby finally murmured, brushing her thumb lightly over the cut. Clarke had completely forgotten it was even there and flinched more from surprise than from pain. The mother turned to stop a servant that was hurrying by, reaching out to stop her. “I need a bucket of water and a clean cloth,” Abby informed the girl, “and a jar of cleaning ointment.” The girl nodded and then hurried off, probably adding it to her list of things to do.  
  
“I'm okay, Mother,” Clarke told her, her voice coming out in a croak. It was only at that moment that she realized how sore her throat was and winced, unsure when exactly that had happened.  
  
The look Abby gave her had Clarke biting her lip, her throat hurting even more as it suddenly burned again. Her mother's eyebrow rose, lips pursing lightly together and Clarke's heart clenched painfully in her chest at its familiarity.  
  
“Don't argue,” she ordered, tapping the younger woman's chin lightly. “I'm your mother.”  
  
The single statement broke something inside Clarke, a wall shattering as a strangled laugh tore from her throat. She was nodding even before the noise made its way out and then her eyes closed, gritting her teeth to try to hold back any other such sound. Without entirely meaning to she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against her mother's stomach and clenched her eyes tighter as too many emotions to name washed over her.  
  
“I'm sorry, Mother,” she got out, her voice quiet but audible, and then she pulled back when she felt Abby move. The older woman crouched down in front of her, fingers gripping her chin and Clarke forced her eyes open. She found warm brown eyes staring back at her, ones she was sure she would know anywhere, and had to swallow thickly when she caught the dampness in the corners of them.  
  
“You have nothing to apologize for, Clarke,” Abby told her, her own voice thick with emotion. Her grip on the blonde's chin tightened just a bit and her other hand reached out to grasp Clarke's. She shook her head, fighting down her own wave of emotions as she added, “I am so, so proud of you. What you've done...” Abby trailed off, shaking her head without looking away. “I am so proud, Clarke.” Her hand squeezed her daughter's harder, one more tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “And so incredibly relieved.” Without thinking about it she pushed back up just so she could pull the younger woman in for another hug, holding her tightly. “I love you so much.”  
  
Clarke's fingers dug into the back of her mother's dress as she held onto her. Her heart beat too quickly to try to control and the heat in her chest just grew, quickly pooling into her limbs. “I love you too, Mother,” she whispered, eyes closing again, and again the two women just held onto one another for a long while, neither quite believing they finally could again.  
  
Somebody cleared their throat beside them and finally Abby pulled back, both of them looking over to see who it was that had interrupted. Lord Nyko stood at the end of Wells's bed, looking apologetically at Abby.  
  
“Lady Abigail, I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to leave your daughter now, but we could use your help,” he said. He gestured around the room where over a dozen other injured were laying in beds, servants hurrying between each as a couple of healers tried to divide their time up to treat the worst off first. “You know as much about healing as anyone here. We could really use you.”  
  
Abby let out a sharp breath, desperately not wanting to leave her daughter, but she nodded. She looked at Clarke and then back at Nyko, having to force herself to step away from the blonde. “Of course I can help, Lord Nyko,” she replied, giving him a nod. “Just tell me where you'd like me to start.”  
  
“I can help also,” Clarke said and began to stand up, surprised when her legs immediately began shaking from the effort. Before she could even try to take a step her mother's hand was against her shoulder, gently pushing her back towards the chair.  
  
“No,” she told her firmly, giving her a look. “You're exhausted. What you need to do is rest.” She gripped her shoulder lightly, adding quietly, “You've done enough for now, Clarke. Just relax.” The blonde frowned, wanting to argue, but in the end she just nodded, knowing her mother was right. Abby gripped her shoulder one last time before pulling away and then turned her attention on Raven where she stood on the other side of the bed with Octavia. “Raven, you need to rest too. Come with me, we'll find you somewhere to sit and rest your leg.”  
  
The brunette groaned, rolling her eyes. “I'm fine Abby,” she grumbled but followed her as Abby and Nyko started walking away, and Clarke's eyes widened when she noticed Raven's pronounced limp and the way she just barely winced as she moved forward.  
  
“How did she get hurt?” she demanded, nearly standing up again to follow them. Her eyes darted over Raven's body, unable to find any obvious sign of injury but the limp made it entirely clear she'd been hurt somehow.  
  
Octavia sighed and leaned against the end of Wells's bed, crossing her arms over her chest. “It's not from today,” she informed the other woman, closing her eyes as she rolled her neck a few times. The adrenaline from all the fighting was finally beginning to wear off and because of it her muscles were beginning to feel a little stiff. “It's an old injury.”  
  
“It can't be that old,” Clarke retorted, giving Octavia a look. “I don't remember Raven ever limping.”  
  
The brunette opened her eyes and turned to Clarke and the older woman saw something flash behind bright eyes that had her frowning. “Life didn't just continue for you, Clarke, it continued for the rest of us too.” She clenched her jaw as she glanced over at Raven, watching as Abby forced her to sit in an empty chair. She could clearly tell the other brunette was still arguing with the lady but Octavia knew it was all for show; likely Raven's leg was killing her after all the activity of the day, and it wasn't likely to stop hurting again for days. “You remember how fond her mother was of ale?” she asked, finally looking back at Clarke, and the other woman nodded, her frown deepening as she scanned Octavia's face. Anger flashed across it, her fingers gripping harder against her arms. “A couple of years after you – disappeared,” she began, scrunching up her nose as she corrected herself, still getting used to the fact Clarke was still alive, “it got a lot worse. Raven didn't tell any of us, but she started getting violent. Not bad she told us later, just shoved her around a bit whenever Rae would try to get her to stop drinking.” She glanced back over where the other brunette now sat, finding her rubbing at her thigh and trying to keep an even expression. “One afternoon she went back to the kitchen and found her mother slobbering drunk. When she tried to take her drink away her mother got a hold of a knife. She was so out of it she didn't even care it was her own daughter she was attacking. The knife ended up in Raven's leg and it was only thanks to the other people in the kitchen it wasn't any worse than that.” Octavia shook her head, tearing her gaze away from Raven and turning back to Clarke, finding horror and fury in blue eyes that had gone dark. “One of the women there ran and got Abby and your mother saved Raven before she could bleed out, but the leg's bothered her ever since.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Abby was about ready to have the bitch killed for what she'd done, but Raven begged her not to. In the end she just kicked her out.”  
  
Anger swarmed inside Clarke's chest, bright and powerful. Sickness rose up the back of her throat and she had to swallow it down. She'd seen plenty of horrors in the world ever since the night her father died and a drunk attacking her own daughter didn't even begin to come close to the worst of it, but the idea of that happening to someone she loved ate away at her. A flash of guilt tore through her gut as she turned back to look over at Raven, wondering if she could have done anything to prevent it had she been there. It was useless to think about, nothing could change the choices she'd made and she wouldn't even if she could, but still she knew the thought wasn't likely to go away any time soon.  
  
“I didn't know,” she said quietly, her voice rough, and she noticed Octavia look at her out of the corner of her eye. The younger woman studied her for a second, probably reading everything she was feeling on her face, and her expression softened just a little.  
  
“Well yeah, how could you?” Octavia asked, one shoulder shrugging. “We've all been a little to busy to really catch up.” The corners of her mouth tugged up and she gently kicked Clarke, really just tapping her leg to get her attention again. When blue eyes turned back to her she let her smile grow a little, telling her, “We will though. Now that this is all over and you're back, things can go back to the way they should have been.”  
  
Clarke knew it wouln't be as easy as that but she let herself return the younger woman's smile anyway. For the moment her anger left, just leaking out of her and she nodded. “Sure,” she just said, meeting Octavia's eyes. “We'll figure it out.” They shared a short moment, smiling at each other, and then Octavia pushed herself away from the bed.  
  
“I'm gonna go see if Indra or Lincoln could use my help,” she stated, hooking her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “The gods know I'm useless in here.” Clarke's smile turned into a smirk, an eyebrow rising.  
  
“Lincoln, huh?” she said, giving Octavia a knowing look, and the younger woman's eyes narrowed.  
  
“Or Indra,” she repeated, and when the blonde just continued to smirk at her she let out a huff. “I forgot how annoying you can be,” she grumbled and Clarke's smirk only grew.  
  
“He's definitely good-looking,” she just said, completely ignoring the remark. “And a good fighter, and from what I've seen he knows how to keep a cool head, something he'll need if he's with you.” Octavia glared and stuck out her tongue at her, and Clarke almost laughed at the action, the feeling bubbling inside her chest. Another thought occurred to her and her eyebrow rose higher, catching the brunette's eyes. “Bellamy must hate him.”  
  
At that she saw the very corners of Octavia's lips twitch, losing the fight as they suddenly curled up. “Yeah well, he can get over it,” she replied. “If I have my way he's gonna have to.” At that Clarke actually did laugh, shaking her head as she did.  
  
“He won't like it, but Rae and I will remind him he doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter,” she promised. Her smirk melted into a sincere smile as she looked at the younger woman. “Lincoln's a good guy, O. You deserve a good guy.”  
  
“Thanks Clarke,” Octavia said, returning her smile, and then she looked past her at Raven and it was her turn to smirk. “Wait till you hear who Raven's got her sights set on though. She's looking for more than just a Palace Guardsmen.” Now both of Clarke's eyebrows rose, silently indicating Octavia should not leave it at that and the brunette just shrugged. “You know if Lady Anya has any interest in women?” she asked lightly and Clarke's eyes shot open, her jaw dropping.  
  
“Uh, nope, no idea,” she answered, not able to hold back her surprise and then she cringed a little. “And I don't think I'm going to be able to help Raven much there; I don't think Anya really likes me very much.”  
  
To Clarke's surprise Octavia scoffed, the sound punching out of her chest as she turned around. “Please Clarke,” she called, throwing the blonde a look over her shoulder, “you just saved the queen; I don't see how anyone could not like you right now.” She frowned then and shrugged. “Well you know, other than those idiots we just stopped. They probably kind of hate you right now. Everyone else though, they must love you.”  
  
“If you say so Octavia,” Clarke muttered, highly doubting it but choosing not to argue. The brunette shot her another grin and then gave her a wave before exiting the room to rejoin the Guard and see where they could use her help.  
  
With Octavia gone, Raven still sitting at the other end of the room and her mother moving around to help the other injured people in the room, Clarke returned her focus to Wells for a few minutes. He was still sleeping, his breath still even from what she could tell, and she let out another sigh of relief. Before long the girl who'd walked by earlier stopped by with the bucket of water and rag Abby had ordered for her, as well as a cup of tea and a small jar of paste for the cut on her cheek. Clarke thanked the girl and then dabbed the rag into the bucket, carefully feeling along her cheek to clean the wound. As she dunked the linen back into the bucket her focus got caught on her hand, still dyed red from Niylah and Wells's blood, and a large lump grew again in her throat before she could swallow it down. She ignored her cheek as she plunged both hands into the bucket, scrubbing at them furiously to wash away the red.  
  
The bucket of murky water was on the floor with the rag in it, her hands finally more white than red, when she looked up and saw two more people enter the infirmary. She'd been sipping at the tea, too tired to pay much attention to it, when she glanced up to see the pair enter the room. Her stomach flipped the moment she saw them and her tea lost its flavor as uncertainty burrowed into her gut. Clarke moved the cup to her lap and wrapped both hands around it, watching as Finn and his father walked into the room.  
  
Neither man had been able to get away from their fights without marks to show for them, and Clarke assumed it was because of this that they were here. Emerys walked with an exaggerated limp and she could see blood staining his left pant leg from behind the knee. His chin was stained red from a split lip and a long gash ran from his forehead to his cheek, but he held himself up tall as he slowly made his way through the room. Beside him Finn didn't look any better, his right eye nearly swollen shut and bruised. The right shoulder of his tunic was almost black with blood from where Illen's sword must have struck him, and Clarke was pretty sure at least one of his fingers was broken. He stood almost as tall as his father but his eyes glanced around the room, and when he caught sight of Clarke he froze, his one good eye widening a little. His father gave him a look beside him and then turned to see what he'd noticed and Clarke did her best not to shift in her chair as she felt both men staring at her. A second later Emerys shifted directions and moved towards her, Finn following just a step behind after a beat.  
  
Nerves buzzed anxiously in Clarke's stomach as the two men approached her but she tried not to let them show. She'd never spoken to the head of the Glowing Forest house before but her last conversation with Finn played readily in her mind and the buzzing intensified. They stopped in front of her at the end of Wells's bed and Clarke almost stood up, shifting a little bit in her seat before she stopped herself. Clarke Blake always had to prostrate herself at these lords' feet but Clarke Griffin had always been at their level so she sunk into that, sitting back in her chair and holding her head up. She might as well make sure these nobles knew that from now on she was their equal, and she wouldn't be treating them as anything more.  
  
“Lord Emerys,” she greeted from her chair, nodding at him. She looked over at Finn, finding him barely able to look at her and made sure her own expression was perfectly even. “Lord Finn.”  
  
“Lady Clarke,” Emerys returned after a moment, also nodding. To his credit he didn't appear to be offended she hadn't bowed or even stood up to greet him, his eyes steady as he continued to stare at her. Clarke was surprised to see just how similar to Finn's they were but didn't let herself think on it as he bent just a little bit from his waist. She just managed to keep her surprise out of her expression as he told her evenly, “Thank you for what you did. My house is in your debt.”  
  
For half a second Clarke was speechless, never expecting anything like this from him. Quickly she recovered, telling him, “You don't owe me anything, my lord.” She hesitated, unsure what else to say, and then added, “I'm sorry for what your sons did.”  
  
“Finn is my only son,” the older man replied instantly, a hardness in his tone that made a shiver run up Clarke's spine. At his side she could see the skin over his knuckles go taut, turning white as he added, “Those other two are nothing but traitors as are the soldiers who helped them. My son and I will be sitting in the front row on the day they are executed.”  
  
Behind him Finn flinched, apparently not as ready to see his brothers die as their father was, but Emerys didn't see it and Clarke didn't point it out. She understood the shame Myers and Illen had brought on their house, the same shame Diana and Thelonious had brought on Arkadia, and she knew they would all have work to do to dig their houses out of it. Arkadia had more shame to get out from beneath than Glowing Forest, shame that Clarke felt had been carved into her forehead, but at this moment at least the lords in front of her didn't say anything about it. One of the healers came over to them, already bowing to the two lords and gesturing for them to go with him, and Emerys gave her another nod before turning to follow. Finn glanced over at her, face flushed beneath his injuries and for her part Clarke just held herself up under the look, her shoulders only slumping when they'd walked away.  
  
She'd mostly forgotten about the Glowing Forest lords a few minutes later as a few more people entered the room. Her tea was gone and the empty cup taken away, and her arms had been crossed on the bed as she rested against them when she caught sight of Miller, Monty, Harper and Monroe glancing around the room. She stood up to go to them but her legs shook again and she had to brace herself against the bed, instead just waving them down. Monty and Harper both gave her tired smiles as they hurried over to her with the two knights trailing along behind them, and then Clarke's arms were wrapping around her two friends as their own wrapped around her.  
  
For more than a minute the three of them stood there in silence, just holding each other. Clarke's throat burned as Niylah's face flashed through her mind, sure they were all thinking about who was missing, but she managed to swallow back the tears she could feel threatening to fall. Her eyes still ached from the ones she'd already cried and she knew plenty more were still to come as the events of the day hit her all over again once she was rested, so for the moment she just took solace in her friends' arms. Monroe and Miller stayed back, giving them this time to silently mourn their loss together, and Clarke's eyes closed as she felt Harper's face shift against her shoulder and Monty's grip on her shirt tighten.  
  
“How are you doing?” she asked as they finally broke apart, looking from one to the other. Both of their eyes were red and blood-shot, and she guessed they'd both only recently stopped crying.  
  
Monty shrugged, attempting a small smile.  
  
“We'll be okay,” he told her, his voice rougher than usual. Harper nodded, too tired to give them her usual grin as she added, “We just need to... you know. Accept it, I guess. Niylah-” her voice broke, one more tear falling but she ignored it, “she'd want us to.”  
  
Clarke blinked back another few tears, desperately fighting them away. “Yeah,” she agreed, emotion coloring her tone but not overpowering it. “She would.”  
  
They stood in an awkward silence for another minute before Monty looked over to the man on the bed beside them. “I'm glad your friend's gonna be okay.” Clarke shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks Monty,” she told him, “me too.” She bit her lip for a second, looking them over. Neither had anywhere near the same kinds of injuries most of the fighters now bore, but each had bruises and cuts scattered along their faces and arms and probably more beneath their shirts. Suddenly she thought of how easily it could have been either of them lying in any one of these beds or worse, and she pulled them into another hug, holding them tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, to them and the gods. “Thank you for all your help; I'll never forget what you guys did for me.”  
  
Harper pulled back a little, her lips finally curling up into something that almost resembled her usual grin. “Eh, we didn't do that much, just a little spying. No big deal.”  
  
By the bed Monroe scoffed, lifting an eyebrow as she looked from Harper to Clarke.  
  
“Don't let her lie to you, Clarke,” she said, smirking, “these two did a hell of a lot more than that. Remind me never to piss her off when she's holding a tray.”  
  
“And to stay away from Monty when he's carrying a knife,” Miller agreed, one corner of his mouth tugging up a little as he looked at the younger man. “He doesn't mess around.”  
  
Monty's face flushed under the praise, sinking a little into his shoulders as they lifted up by his ears. “I just didn't want anyone to get hurt,” he mumbled, and then rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, any of us to get hurt.” Harper grinned at him and slung an arm over his shoulder, telling him, “I think it's great! Now if anyone tries to get rough with you again you know exactly what to do.” Miller and Monroe frowned behind them while Monty flushed an even deeper shade of red and Clarke bit her cheek hard to keep her expression from changing.  
  
“So uh, when do we head back home?” Monty asked, very obviously trying to change the subject. He glanced over at Clarke who rubbed at her forehead. “Lincoln should have already sent the City Guard to the Magpie, so they should be rounding up the mercenaries as we speak if they haven't already.” She looked between the two of them, seeing the exhaustion they both tried to hide and decided they deserved a little rest before going back to The Rig. She knew Luna wouldn't put them to work right away after everything that had happened over the last few hours but even so any rest they could get even in this chaotic infirmary would probably be better than what they'd get in a noisy whorehouse. “Why don't you relax for a little while, and when things have calmed down a little we can head back to The Rig?” she suggested.  
  
Harper and Monty nodded, apparently liking the plan, but Monroe raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
“You're going back there?” she asked and Miller pursed his lips, clearly not happy about the idea but Clarke just met their looks.  
  
“I am,” she said with a nod, meeting those looks with an even expression. “I need to make sure everyone's alright and talk to Luna.”  
  
“Are you sure your mother is going to let you?” Miller asked, glancing past Clarke's shoulder where Lady Abby was helping wrap up a Guardswoman's head wound. Clarke's heart skipped a beat at the reminder of her mother but she nodded again.  
  
“Whether she lets me or not doesn't matter, I'm going,” she replied, lifting her chin a little higher. “I need to make sure the rest of my friends are okay, then I'll come back.”  
  
Miller and Monroe shared a look but neither of them said anything else. Clarke could see something flash across Harper and Monty's eyes too, their expressions falling just a bit before they could stop them. She felt guilt twist in her gut at the looks but didn't say anything, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. They didn't say anything either, just made themselves give her another tired smile and then they made their way over to the wall Wells's bed was pressed up against. They sat on the floor and leaned against it, both closing their eyes, and Clarke let herself watch them for just another second longer. Suddenly it struck her how much she was going to miss them and Jasper and Maya, miss their times at the bench outside of The Rig or the nights they'd all been free to go grab a drink together. She would miss Niylah too though for an entirely other reason, and her heart twisted painfully in her chest.  
  
Without another word Clarke sank back into her chair, immediately leaning over the bed so that her arms could rest against it again. Miller began to wander around the room, providing help whenever he could, and Monroe disappeared for a few minutes just to reappear with a tray carrying a few cups of tea. She handed them out to Monty and Harper though Clarke refused hers, and then the knight set herself up on the other side of the bed, leaning back against the wall and letting her eyes roam over the room. Clarke felt safe in that moment with her friends on the floor next to her and the knight keeping watch, so she didn't fight it as her eyelids started to droop. The noises of the room blurred together in the background, barely recognizable as her breathing began to even out, and then before she knew it she'd fallen asleep.  
  
Clarke didn't know how long she'd been asleep when suddenly a hand was shaking her shoulder, but from the sound around her she didn't think it had been long. She opened bleary eyes, ready to growl at whoever had woken her to leave her alone, and shot a glare up over her shoulder. Raven now stood behind her, her hand still resting on the blonde's arm, but she wasn't looking at Clarke. Her lips were curled up into a big grin as she stared towards the doorway and the look just made Clarke frown. After a second she followed the brunette's gaze, her mind still only half-awake and working a little slower than usual, but when she found what Raven was looking at the world suddenly snapped into focus.  
  
Madi stood in the doorway, her eyes rapidly scanning around the room. Bellamy was just stepping into place behind her, looking a little out of breath as though maybe he'd chased her there, but Clarke couldn't bother to spare him a second glance. She sat frozen, her jaw hanging open and heart beating wildly in her chest, unable to so much as blink until Madi's eyes finally found her own. A face that was so much older than she remembered but still absolutely her sister stared back at her, her dark hair looking tousled and dark blue eyes wide. Every bit of air punched out of Clarke's lungs as she stared wide-eyed at her sister. For the blink of a moment both Griffin girls remained frozen, unable to do anything but stare at each other, and then all at once Madi dashed forward.  
  
“Clarke!” she cried, running into the room and not caring that other people had to move out of her way and her older sister jumped up, her chair falling back at the force of her rise. Legs that still shook carried Clarke around the end of the bed and directly into Madi's path, and her arms tangled around her sister as Madi plowed into her. They nearly fell to the floor, Clarke just managing to catch them in time and guide them down, but the second they were holding each other neither one of them even considered letting go.  
  
“Madi,” Clarke let out in a strangled whisper, tears once again streaming down her cheeks. She pressed her face against the top of her sister's head, unable to believe this moment could actually be real. For seven years she'd believed she would never see her baby sister again and now here she was, sobbing against Clarke's chest as she sobbed into her hair. Her arms wrapped even more tightly around Madi, half afraid she was hurting her but more afraid she might disappear if she let go, and the two just sat their, crying against each other as countless pairs of eyes glanced over at them, suddenly feeling like they were intruding on a private moment.  
  
At the back corner of the room Abby watched as her daughters fell into the embrace, a few tears dripping down her cheeks as her family was finally reunited again after far too long. She vowed to herself in that moment to never let anything tear them apart again. 

***

Lexa rode towards the front of the train, only Indra and Lincoln in front of her. Anya rode beside her, eyes constantly scanning the crowds of people gathering at either side of the road as their party continued on, but the queen looked nowhere but ahead. The sun was only just starting to sink as they made their way down what was quickly becoming the most crowded street in the city, but the two squads of Guardsmen traveling around them kept the mass of people back.  
  
They should have had the tournament that morning, but because of the reveal of the duchess's plot and the resulting battle the morning before Lexa had canceled it. There were prisoners to get information from, wounded that still needed to be seen to, and the dead that had needed to be taken care of, all of which was far more important than a few silly games. The queen had ordered a great pyre be built for those who had lost their lives defending her and the nation against Nia's conspirators, and three of the city's most talented craftsmen had been up all night working on it, finally finishing it around mid-morning. The bodies of the deceased had been wrapped with the utmost care, every respect shown to them, and she'd personally overseen their placement on the pyre, even helping to move a few of the bodies onto it. The crowd that would have gathered for the tournament instead gathered in silence to honor the dead as their bodies burned, and Lexa had mourned with her nation at their losses. Their enemies had lost more but the number of bodies that had burned had been significant, and Lexa knew they would be feeling the losses for years to come.  
  
For now though she had work she could do, and it was work she hoped would make up a little for this sad day. Behind her two wagons were stuffed full of food, more than half of what had been made for the tournament, and she could see just as many people staring at the wagons as were staring at her. She'd given her Guards and the others who had fought to protect her yesterday the first go at the feast, and now everything that was left she was bringing out for those who needed it. It was more than she'd planned to bring when she and Titus had talked about the leftover food from the tournament, but as far as she was concerned it was the one positive thing that had come from her aunt's treachery.  
  
Around her the Guards who were well enough to be chosen for this assignment closed around her a little closer, many of them clearly nervous about having her out in the streets. Most of them were on foot, only three others aside from her, Indra, Lincoln, Anya and the two people guiding the wagons on horseback, and from above them Lexa could see most of them glancing around at the crowds gathering at either side of the street. The queen seldom left the palace – something Lexa whole-heartedly planned to change – so everyone wanted the opportunity to see her out among them now. A smile tried to tug at Lexa's lips as she thought about how only weeks ago she'd truly been walking among them with none of them even knowing but she held it back, her calm expression not changing.  
  
Indra and Lincoln led them into the heart of Polis just as Lexa had instructed them to, and the further they went the closer the Guard moved to her. They left the nicer part of the city and now wound through uneven streets, worn-down houses on either side of them. The people gathering around now were poorly dressed, most in nothing but rags, and Lexa could see the caution in their eyes as they watched the big party continue forward. The curiosity from the people earlier shifted into fear from these people, and Lexa had to sit up straighter to control her expression, making sure not to tighten her grip on her reins. Finally Indra called a halt and as one the Guard stopped, those on the outside of the ring turning to face the crowds surrounding them.  
  
Lexa sat up straight in her saddle, tilting her head back just a little as she glanced slowly around at the crowds of people around her.  
  
“Captain Indra,” she said evenly, the street quiet enough that she knew many of those around her would hear what she was saying, “have the wagons unloaded.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” Indra responded. She shouted out an order before swinging one leg over her saddle and dismounting, and before her feet had even touched the ground a handful of Guards had moved to start unloading the wagons, pulling out bag after bag of food. While they moved Lexa continued looking around at the people watching them, and finally she let her expression soften just a little.  
  
“I see a lot of hungry faces tonight,” she called out to those watching her. A few people shrunk back as though they were afraid she was speaking to them directly, and she made sure to keep her expression open. “I'm sorry for that, but I'm hoping we can fix it.” She gestured over to where the Guard was still pulling bags from the carts, and this time nearly everyone followed the movement, many sets of eyes widening as they saw what was inside the bags. “It isn't much, but hopefully we can make sure most of you sleep with full stomachs tonight.” She flashed the people in front of her a small smile, chest buzzing when a few people returned it with their own. “I ask that we keep this orderly: form a few lines, children first. The Guard will hand out equal portions to as many as possible. If you are able to afford your own dinner tonight, please stay back so that more people who cannot will be able to eat. Thank you.”  
  
Indra barked out a few more orders to the Guard and more people moved around, most of the soldiers turning their attention to the wagons as a few people in the crowd hesitantly began to step forward. Lincoln split his time between guiding the people into neat lines and keeping his eye on Lexa while Anya practically stayed glued to the queen's side. After the reveal of Nia's conspiracy she completely refused to leave Lexa alone, even going so far as to spend the night in the brunette's room while she slept the previous night, sitting up and constantly watching the door and window. Lexa knew she would be on edge until all of the conspirators had been killed, and even then the knight wasn't likely to relax for a while, already wondering if they'd found all of the duchess's spies. The queen understood and wondered the same thing but she hoped Anya would be able to let her worry go before too long; as much as she appreciated her friend's protection, she knew it would wear on her very fast.  
  
For now though Lexa could ignore the knight's constant presence, her attention completely on the action around her. Children were being herded forward, adults who'd tried to jump to the front of the lines were being pushed back, and everywhere she looked there was movement. She found countless sets of eyes staring at the food being set out around the wagons and saw a number of people already licking their lips, and Lexa's heart squeezed lightly in her chest as her lips tugged into a bit of a smile. Rather than just sit around and watch she dismounted, the sword at her waist bouncing lightly against her hip as she moved, and joined the soldiers gathering on one side of the wagons. With nothing more than a simple nod to the armed men and women with her she hauled one of the bags in front of her and set herself up in the line. Without a word she waited, making sure to smile warmly when the first couple of children hesitantly made their way over to her. The three girls, all younger than eight she guessed, glanced back and forth from her to the bag of bread rolls she had in front of her, and she just smiled as she handed out a roll to each of them. They each grabbed the offered roll and gave a quick curtsy, the youngest almost stumbling from her nervousness.  
  
“There's no need for that,” Lexa told them, careful to keep her tone soft. “You wouldn't want to drop your food.” They looked at each other, eyes wide, but then gave her a quick nod before moving on to the Guard next to her. The next group of children took their place, all shifting nervously and glancing up at her and then away again, and Lexa simply handed out the rolls. She didn't say anything as they worked down the line, just nodded and smiled when anyone thanked her. Most of the thank yous were barely coherent mumbles but she didn't say anything about it, understanding why they would be nervous. After all, it wasn't every day the queen went into the poorest part of the city and handed out food, so it wasn't like they knew what to expect.  
  
After twenty or more children had gone through the line, Lexa's smile grew when she recognized the next trio to walk up to her. Kinder led his sisters, Mimmie holding one of Henley's hands while the toddler's other hand remained wrapped tightly around the same raggedy blanket Lexa had seen her with when she met them. They looked just as uncertain as everyone else who had gone by but Kinder and Mimmie were both staring at the bag in front of them, barely even looking up at the queen. Henley glanced around everywhere, eyes not stopping on any one thing for more than a couple of seconds as she pressed herself up against her sister's legs. They only looked up at Lexa when she crouched down in front of them, still smiling.  
  
“Hi Kinder,” she greeted lightly, looking at the boy before turning to his sisters also, “Mimmie, Henley. It's nice to see you again.”  
  
Kinder's brow furrowed and Mimmie's eyes widened and Lexa knew they must not recognize her as the strange woman they'd met a couple of weeks ago. Kinder glanced at her nervously, scanning her face for a second before he asked, “How come you know our names?” Mimmie elbowed him hard in the side and he added quickly, “Yer Majesty.”  
  
Lexa's lips twitched but she did her best to hold back another smile. “We met once before,” she answered simply, reaching into her bag and taking out a roll. She handed it to him, meeting his eyes and one corner of her mouth tugged up a little bit higher. “I hope you were good enough for your mama that she let you pick out something special at the market.” She grabbed another roll, handing it out to Mimmie as both of the older children's eyes widened.  
  
“Lexa!” Kinder exclaimed, his entire face lighting up. “Yer Clarke's friend!”  
  
“Is she here too?” Mimmie asked beside him, a big smile growing across her face as she looked around them, searching for the redhead. “We been waitin', but we haven't seen her in a while.”  
  
The other woman's name made the queen swallow thickly, her expression falling just a little before she could stop it and plaster her smile back on. “She isn't here, no,” she answered, shaking her head lightly. “She's been really busy lately, but I'm sure she misses you.” It was the understatement of the century and just thinking about everything the younger woman had been through and done over the past couple of days sent Lexa's mind spinning so for now she forced the thoughts away, pushing them down not for the first time as she turned her attention over to Henley. She grabbed another roll and held it out to the toddler, giving her a soft smile as she said quietly, “Hi Henley. Can you hold this and your blanket at the same time?” Henley ducked slightly behind Mimmie's patched skirt but returned the smile with a shy one of her own and then reached out, grabbing the roll from the queen while still holding onto her blanket. Lexa nodded to her and then looked all three of them over once more before standing back up. “Go ahead and get some more food,” she told them, gesturing to her left where the next soldier with a bag stood. “These nice people beside me will help you with more.” The Guard standing beside her stood up a little straighter and she could see him trying to hide a smile as he watched the interaction.  
  
“Thanks Lexa!” Kinder said, beaming up at her, and then he yelped when his sister elbowed him again. Her hand holding the roll went to her hip, giving him a look as she informed him haughtily, “Yer 'sposed to call her Majesty, member?” He stuck his tongue out at her and she stuck hers right back, and Lexa was pretty sure she heard the Guard beside her choke back a laugh, doing his very best to keep his expression straight.  
  
“Mimmie you're right, most people call me Majesty, but my friends call me Lexa,” the queen told them, still giving them a little smile. She looked over them again, raising an eyebrow. “We can be friends, can't we?”  
  
“Yeah!” Henley exclaimed, jumping out from behind Mimmie and throwing her hands up in the air. Kinder and Mimmie both beamed, each nodding quickly.  
  
“Okay!” Kinder agreed, grinning from ear to ear, “I like that!” Lexa's smile grew a little, returning their nods. “So do I,” she said, and then gestured to the man beside her. “Now you three get some more food to fill your bellies.”  
  
“Thanks Lexa!” Mimmie told her as she reached out and grabbed her sister's hand once again. Kinder followed his sisters as they moved on down the line but then he turned back around, brow shooting up as he gave the queen a look.  
  
“Oh, and tell Clarke we miss her when you see her!” he said. “I been workin' real hard on my writin' like she wants.” The name made Lexa's heart squeeze painfully in her chest but she nodded anyway, not letting it show as she told him, “I will, Kinder.”  
  
The three kept moving down the line and Lexa shifted her focus on the other children who had yet to get any food, her entire attention on the work. She smiled and nodded as many of them thanked her and handed out roll after roll until finally her bag was empty. Another Guard moved up with a fresh bag of bread but Lexa stepped away, letting the man take her place as adults began to filter past them, the line of children dwindling to an end. Anya – who had been standing behind her the entire time as she handed out food – followed her when she turned and began making her way back towards the wagon, and when Lexa met Lincoln and Indra's eyes and gestured subtly to them they stepped away from what they had been doing to join her. The queen led the three soldiers back to one of the wagons and reached inside, searching for the three cloaks she'd stuffed inside before they left the palace. Finding them she grabbed them, keeping one for herself and holding the other two out to Anya and Lincoln.  
  
“Put these on,” she instructed, catching the way Anya's eyes were already narrowing and the suspicion creeping into Indra's expression. Lincoln looked just as unsure but he took one of the cloaks from Lexa, slowly doing as he'd been told while not taking his eyes from the queen.  
  
“And why do we need to put these on?” Anya demanded quietly, her suspicion obvious in her voice as she continued to stare at Lexa. The brunette let out a silent sigh, knowing this was never going to have been easy, and lightly shoved one of the two cloaks left at her friend's chest. With just her own in her hands now she quickly slipped it on. One hand moved to one of the pockets, finding the small bag she'd stuffed into it earlier, and her mind began to wander.  
  
“Because the three of us are taking a quick trip,” she answered simply, gesturing between Anya, Lincoln and herself. “I have a little bit of business I need to take care of while we're in the city.” She looked over to Indra, finding the captain's jaw firmly clenched and her eyes flashing with anger and she stood a little taller. “We won't be gone long, Indra. We should easily be back by the time all of the food has been handed out.”  
  
“Do you really think I'm going to let you wander the streets alone?” the captain asked, her voice hard and Lexa gestured to the other two standing with them.  
  
“I won't be alone, and we're not going far,” she replied. “All three of us are armed, and once we get away from here no one is going to recognize me. I need you here to keep everything in order.” She lifted an eyebrow, her expression smoothing as she gave Indra an even look. “Also I will remind you I am the queen; I decide what you let me do.”  
  
Lexa could practically hear the older woman's teeth grind together as she held her glare, but finally Indra's shoulders squared back and she stood up a little taller.  
  
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” she said, voice still hard. She glanced over to Anya and Lincoln, studying them for a moment before looking back over at Lexa. “You will stay with them and you will do as they say. I don't care what you think, I _can_ make sure you don't leave the palace again for a very, very long time.”  
  
It was a challenge but Lexa let it go. She knew it was Indra's job to keep her safe and telling her to stay behind while the queen roamed the city was expecting a lot, so she just appreciated the fact that the captain wasn't putting up anymore of a fight. She still had Anya to convince though, and she knew it when she looked over to find the knight still holding the cloak she'd handed to her.  
  
“And where exactly are we going?” she wanted to know, the look on her face telling the queen she already had a pretty good idea of the answer. Lexa confirmed it when she looked around the area, searching for the best place to get through the crowds and just said, “The Rig.”  
  
Indra's brow snapped up and one of Lincoln's eyebrows rose just a little, but Anya's expression didn't change. “And why are we going there?” she asked. “Clarke isn't there anymore, she's still at the palace with her mother and sister.  
  
Once again the younger woman's name cause a reaction inside of Lexa, nerves suddenly fluttering around in her stomach, but she pushed them aside. Now was not the time to try to sort through every strange emotion just thinking of Clarke caused inside of the queen so she didn't, ignoring Anya's look as she answered easily, “I'm aware of that but my business isn't with Clarke.” Seeing an opening between a few of the Guards and the crowd in front of them, Lexa took a step towards it, looking back over at the knight as she moved. “I'm going; it's up to you whether you want to come or not.” She turned to keep moving towards the opening in the crowd but a hand shot out and grabbed her arm, stopping her, and she just gave Anya a look. The older woman glared at her but then quickly pulled on the cloak before stepping into place in front of the queen. All three of the cloaked figures pulled their hoods over their heads and then Anya led the way, Lexa behind her and Lincoln bringing up the rear, never more than two steps behind the brunette. Anya pushed her way into the crowd, glaring at anyone who got in her way, and those that bothered to look at them only seemed to see the angry woman glaring at them or the giant man behind her, few barely even glancing at the smaller woman between them. There were enough people there that they had to shove their way through the crowd for a minute or two, but finally they stepped out of the packed street and into a deserted side alley. Once there Anya and Lincoln fell to either side of Lexa and the queen began leading the way, doing her best to remember exactly where The Rig stood in comparison to where they were.  
  
Lexa's memory was spot on: they only had to walk for a few minutes and never had to back track before they saw the building at the end of the street in front of them. She could feel both of her companions giving it a once over, aware neither of them were particularly happy about this field trip, but Lexa didn't stop. If anything she picked up her pace when she saw the building and they both easily kept up with her.  
  
Aside from Luna and the house's guard being in their usual places, there were two men standing by the wall and waiting to be seen to when Lexa and her friends walked in. Anya didn't hesitate, didn't even look at the house's mistress, just strolled right up to the two of them and grabbed them by the front of their shirts, giving a solid yank.  
  
“Out,” she just said, giving them both a look. “Come back later.”  
  
One of them looked at her in surprise while the other one instantly sneered at her. “What makes ya think we'd be listenin' to you?” he asked her, looking down at the woman. Anya stood half a head shorter than him but she didn't cower under his look like he clearly expected. Instead she swept the side of her cloak back, one hand falling easily to the hilt of her sword and she drew it out so that just a few inches of steel showed.  
  
“You either choose to leave with everything intact or I make you leave and you might be missing some body parts,” she told him, hard eyes only colder than they were a second ago. “I've had a bad couple of days so please feel free to choose the latter.”  
  
Whether it was her words, the look she was giving them, or the sight of steel, they instantly heeded her warning. The two men practically stumbled over themselves as they ran to the door, the one who'd sneered at the knight glancing over his shoulder at her as he went while the other one didn't even try to look back. Anya waited until they were both out the door to slip her sword back into its sheathe fully and then she turned to the queen.  
  
“The doors,” Lexa instructed her companions, nodding at first the one they'd just entered and then the one that led to the rest of the house. “We're not to be disturbed.” Lincoln and Anya both nodded back at her and then Lincoln set himself up in the front doorway and Anya shifted over to the other one, each turned now away from the queen. As the two took up their stations Lexa walked over to the desk, finding Luna and her guard watching her. The big man kept glancing back and forth between them all, eyes shifting between the weapons he could tell each had against their waist, but Luna didn't look away from the woman approaching her. Lexa could read something in those calculating eyes she couldn't entirely decipher, but when she stopped directly in front of the desk the house mistress rose slowly.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Luna said, dipping down into a small curtsy, every movement feeling measured to Lexa. Behind her the man's eyes widened as his eyes flew back to the brunette, scanning over her face beneath her hood and obviously recognizing her from when she'd been here before, but despite his confusion he bowed roughly. Lexa ignored him, didn't look away from Luna, and when the woman rose again their eyes immediately met each other. “Clarke's not here, if that's who you're looking for,” Luna informed her, looking between her eyes as she tried to read the queen's face. “It was my understanding she is at your palace.”  
  
“Actually I'm here to see you,” Lexa told her, and she noticed the nearly imperceptible way the other woman's brow rose. Lexa let her mask fall away for a moment, her lips curling down as she continued a little more quietly, “I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday, and to give my condolences for your losses.”  
  
Something painful flashed across Luna's face for just a second and Lexa followed it, looking a little more closely at the woman in front of her. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hands gripped lightly at the edge of her desk, likely to keep them from trembling. Even so the mistress's tone remained completely even as she said, “My people and I only did what was right.” There was a pause for a moment, and then she added in a hushed tone, “It was kind of you to honor them along with the fallen soldiers and nobles.”  
  
“I couldn't have done anything else,” Lexa replied, her tone matching the other woman's. “They were as much heroes as anyone.”  
  
Having Niylah die in her arms had torn something open inside her, but then later when she'd heard about Jasper and Maya that hole had only been made bigger. She'd had their bodies brought to the palace along with the captured mercenaries and the body of the mercenary woman they had killed, and seeing them had broken her a little bit. She personally had wrapped them in sheets and placed them gently next to Niylah, and then she had done the impossible job of telling Clarke two more of her friends were dead. It was the only time the two had actually talked since the younger woman's big reveal but she couldn't let her find out from anyone else. She'd held Clarke as she broke down one more time, her heart aching desperately at the pain and guilt she had seen washing over the younger woman, but then the queen had stepped back when Monty and Harper showed up. The three friends had huddled together to share their grief and Lexa had quietly left, fully aware they needed the time to just hold one another. When they'd burned all of the bodies earlier that afternoon the queen hadn't fully been able to keep herself from glancing over at Clarke, her heart breaking all over again when she found a stony mask in place on the blonde's face as her friends continued to mourn just behind her.  
  
Lexa had to force the thoughts away, returning to the present. Luna was watching her, as though she were waiting for the queen to just nod and leave, but instead one of Lexa's hands dropped to her pocket again, fingers closing around what was inside of it. “That is not the only reason I'm here,” she told Luna and then she pulled her hand back out, lightly dropping the little bag on the mistress's desk. They both heard the light jangle of coins hitting against one another as it dropped and Luna's brow rose before dropping again. She looked up at Lexa, scanning her face for a moment and then slowly reached out, pulling at the tie that held the bag closed. The tie came loose and the bag opened, and they both saw little flashes of silver and gold peaking out of the soft leather.  
  
Luna's jaw clenched, her brow furrowing slightly and posture stiffening. She looked up from the bag of coins to the queen, the brunette's expression unreadable.  
  
“I do not want your payment, Your Majesty,” she stated stiffly. “You cannot buy the lives of my people.”  
  
“I'm aware of that,” Lexa replied, not backing down at the woman's tone though she heard Anya shift where she stood in the second doorway. She gave a slight shake of her head, telling Luna, “That's not what this is.” The flash in the dark-haired woman's eyes told Lexa she didn't believe her and the queen's hands slid behind her back, coming together in her usual stance. She looked across the desk at the mistress, mentally donning her best negotiation skills, sure she was about to have a verbal fight on her hands. “Clarke told me about what you do,” she stated lightly, nodding to Luna, “for people like Monty. Children who get forced into... unpleasant situations.” Surprise flashed across the other woman's face, the most open expression Lexa thought she'd ever seen on the other woman, and she continued, gesturing towards the money. “I want to help you get those children out of those situations.”  
  
“I do fine with that myself, I don't need your charity,” Luna informed her, and Lexa's brow rose.  
  
“It wouldn't be charity at all,” she replied lightly. “I want to hire you as my spy.” Again she saw surprise flash in Luna's eyes and Lexa's lips twitched humorlessly. “My aunt may have been a traitor, but she did teach me one thing: having a few good spies working for me will give me power I don't already have and will help keep me aware of what's going on in my city. Apparently what I have now isn't enough, so I'm looking to expand. I'd like to start with you.”  
  
“I'm not a spy,” Luna stated and one of Lexa's shoulders gave a little shrug. “What is a spy other than someone who watches and can keep secrets?” she asked. “If I'm not mistaken you are very good at doing both.” Luna's jaw tightened just a fraction, confirming what Lexa had suspected. Between questioning prisoners, caring for the dead, and dealing with nobles doing their best to prove to her they had no part in her aunt's conspiracy she'd gone over every detail she could remember from every interaction she had ever had with Clarke, including those she'd had in this very building. Luna only played a small role in any of those memories but the more Lexa had thought about how mistress and worker had interacted the more she began to suspect Luna had known more about Clarke than she'd let on, and now the mistress's silence confirmed those suspicions.  
  
Finding nothing but stubbornness staring back at her from a hard expression, Lexa let her own soften just a little as she took a single step closer to the desk between them.  
  
“I plan to make a lot of changes to this nation and its laws,” she informed Luna, not breaking eye contact with the older woman, “but we both know that laws only go so far. People who think their profit will outweigh their loss if they're ever found will continue to ignore them. I may be queen, but I can only do so much about that. People are going to put on their best smiles when they see me, act as though they are as innocent as can be and have nothing to hide, while in reality everyone is hiding something.” Her fingers clenched into fists behind her back but she tried to keep the way her heart skipped a beat out of her expression as she added quietly, “Clarke taught me that as she showed me around my own city, and then my aunt confirmed it with her coup.” She held steady as Luna scanned her face, looking for something though she didn't know what. Nodding to the other woman, she told her, “You see all types of people in here, and your workers see more. You have connections, both in the city and outside of it if I had to guess, that could come in handy to me. You already have a network of spies working for you; all I want is to give you the money to help build it.” Her eyes flashed and she knew Luna could see the cold fury in them as she stated quietly, “No child should have to encounter the terrors Monty went through, and I have every intention of making sure they don't, but I need your help to save them.”  
  
Luna studied the woman standing in front of her for a long minute, a spark of respect flickering to life for her in her chest. Still, she knew what the queen was asking of her, knew the world well enough to be aware of the dangers this agreement would put herself and her people in, and stated finally, “I won't do anything that puts any of my people in danger. I've already lost too many of them. I'm assuming you'd be expecting names of these people who do these things to children?” The queen nodded and Luna shook her head. “If I start whispering in your ear and these people start getting arrested, sooner or later someone will put it together; I can't put my people in the danger that could lead to.” She lifted an eyebrow. “And if you think people wouldn't notice me going to the palace on a regular basis then you still don't know your people as well as you think you do.”  
  
“Watch it,” Lexa heard Anya growl from the side of the room but the queen didn't react to it. Instead she continued to meet Luna's eyes, not flinching beneath them as she replied, “Actually, I wouldn't want you to come to the palace at all. You're right, people would notice, sooner or later.” She turned a little then, gesturing to Lincoln at the front of the room. “Rather than speak to me in person, you would speak with Lincoln.” The man stiffened, never having heard this plan before, and looked briefly over his shoulder. Lexa met his eyes just for a second, reading the silent question in them, but didn't have time to answer it now. Instead she just turned back to Luna, meeting the woman's eyes again. “He will come here once every other week and you would tell him whatever you've learned. I might include one or two others I trust with this as well, so that no one will notice him coming at a regular time either.” An eyebrow ticked up in mild interest, her expression calm as she added, “And as for you and your people, the last thing I want is to put any of you in anymore danger. You've all already done more for me than I will ever be able to repay. I was thinking if there was anyone else you trusted, really trusted, they might be included in this. Other house mistresses or masters, inn owners, bakers: anyone who could be looking for another pair of hands for help. If we get these other people involved as well so that no one person is always finding and purchasing these children, nobody should ever suspect anything.” Lexa grasped her wrist firmly as her nails bit into her skin, thinking about these faceless children they were talking about and the fear they must be in. A fresh sense of purpose tore through her and she stood up a little taller, still meeting Luna's eyes. “I would provide the funds for purchasing them, and then if you or the others couldn't actually take them on they could come to the palace; there is always room for another worker there.” Her lips pursed slightly, briefly losing her ironclad control of her anger. “Shortly after we would find some reason to arrest those who'd put the child in danger in the first place, but your name or your friends' would never be mentioned.”  
  
As she spoke Luna watched her closely, brow furrowing more and more as she went. She could feel the mistress studying her intently and didn't waver under the look as dark eyes scanned her face.  
  
“You've really thought this through, haven't you?” the dark-haired woman asked and Lexa nodded. “I don't leave loose ends,” she stated simply. “If you agree to this I swear I will do everything in my power to keep you and your people safe.” She hesitated, uncertain whether her next thought would only serve to push the mistress further from agreeing, but in the end she shook her head. “You're right though; what I'm asking you to do could get dangerous. I will do my best, but I cannot guarantee your safety. I can't – nor will I – order you to agree to any of this. It's your choice.”  
  
For a long, drawn out moment Luna just stared at her and Lexa met the stare, letting the other woman see everything in her expression. The queen's heart beat a little quicker than normal in her chest, silently trying to decide what her next step would be if the other woman refused, but finally Luna nodded.  
  
“Alright,” she just said, reaching out and taking the bag of coins still sitting in front of her. “I'm in, but just me; I'm not mentioning any of this to my workers. Their work is already hard enough.” She nodded at the queen. “If I ever hear any of them saying anything I think you need to know about, I'll let you know.”  
  
“It won't be just you, Luna,” the man beside her told her, stepping forward. When the woman glanced over at him he just gave her a partial smile. “You know I'm with you, whatever you're doin'.” She looked like she was about to argue and then thought better of it and nodded lightly, the corners of her mouth just barely curling up. “I do know that, Derrick, and I know it would be pointless to try to argue.” He grinned at her before stepping back again, and Lexa didn't miss the small look they shared. She did ignore it though, nodding once.  
  
“Thank you,” she said and then looked from Luna to Derrick, “both of you.” She took a step back, having accomplished what she came here to do. “Lincoln and I will need to talk more about this, and then he'll be back in a couple of weeks. Until then just go about your days. Think about who else you trust we might be able to pull into this.” She met Luna's eyes again, holding them for a second. “Remember they will have to be people you would trust with your lives and the lives of the people you care about, as that is what is on the line.” They both nodded, expressions not changing, and the queen just returned the motions before she turned away from the desk. Looking over at Anya still standing in the doorway, she called, “Let's go, Anya.”  
  
The knight instantly left her post and moved to take her place at the queen's side again, but before Lexa could move more than a couple of steps towards Lincoln she heard Luna call out quietly behind her, “Have you talked with her yet?” The queen froze, her heart thrumming in her chest, knowing exactly who the other woman was referring to.  
  
“No,” she answered, her voice low. “Not really.” She could feel Luna's eyes on her, felt them raking across the back of her head, and a burning lump grew in the back of her throat as she heard the mistress tell her, “Don't wait much longer. Clarke will try to push you away; don't let her.”  
  
Lexa remained frozen where she was, an electrical current of something she couldn't name racing up her spine as she stood ram-rod straight. She felt a little as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her head, the hair on her arms standing up straight as goosebumps rose along her skin. The lump in her throat refused to go away, making it hard for Lexa the swallow, and her eyes fell closed.  
  
“I won't,” she whispered finally, the words breaking through her lips as she forced them out, and then without looking back she continued forward, leaving Clarke's old mistress behind her. She could still feel that knowing stare on the back of her head even as she stepped back out into the streets so she pulled her hood more firmly around her face, hoping to somehow hide away from it. Without a word to Anya or Lincoln and feeling them both glancing over at her she headed back down the street, ready to return to Indra and the rest of the Guard and hopefully shake this feeling away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you are waiting for the Clexa reunion, and it is coming next chapter, I promise! Thank you all for being patient while I tie all the loose ends of the story up as we draw closer and closer to then end. :)


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **much** longer than I ever thought it was going to be, but it all felt important enough to be included and I didn't want to break it up into two chapters and put off the Clexa reunion any further, so oh well; y'all just get a really long second to last chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

Five days after Clarke Griffin came back to life and publicly uncovered the duchess's treasonous coup, Lexa stood in one of the smaller meeting rooms of the palace. The Great Hall was still being cleaned, handfuls of servants working daily to scrub the bloodstains out of the granite floor. The queen doubted she would ever be able to sit in that room again and not think about the people who'd lost their lives or the ones who'd forfeited them by being part of Nia's plot but as soon as it was clean she would go back to holding audiences in it weekly. Others would have the same thoughts when they stepped foot inside and Lexa would let them serve as a reminder of what happens to people who dare to turn on her. Thinking about it now her fingers clenched lightly into fists behind her back as she stared out the small window in front of her.  
  
“Your message has been delivered, Your Majesty,” Titus stated as he stepped into the room. Even without looking Lexa could easily imagine the little furrow of his brow, the way he couldn't quite mask his displeasure with this particular message. “She will be here shortly, certainly before the executions.”  
  
“Very good, Titus,” the queen said without turning around. They had barely an hour to go before the executions were marked to begin and there were two people she needed to speak with before they did. Feeling the sword strapped heavily against her hip she finally turned, shooting a calm look at the adviser. “Have Roan brought to me as well.”  
  
At the duke's name Titus didn't even bother to try to hide his contempt, his nose scrunching up in hate but he bowed all the same. “Yes Your Majesty.” He rose from his bow to step back outside of the room and deliver her orders to a pair of Guards in the hall.  
  
While Titus went to follow her orders Lexa easily made her way over to the table in the middle of the room. A silver tray had been set out on its surface minutes ago, a pitcher of wine and two glasses on it. By the pitcher was a small bowl of fruit, a little roll of soft bread and a hunk of cheese. She fiddled lightly with the arrangement of the food and drinks, trying to ignore the fizzles of nerves she could feel growing beneath her skin. There were too many important things she had to do today to let them get to her, and this next talk was only the beginning of it all.  
  
After a few more minutes Titus stepped back into the room, Lincoln with him and Lady Monroe right behind him. The young woman glanced around and Lexa could read the uncertainty in her eyes but for her own part made sure to keep her expression entirely clear. Lincoln placed himself by the door while Titus stepped to the side of the room, and out of the corner of her eye the queen could see Anya watching the younger woman closely. Almost a week after Nia's betrayal and the knight still watched Lexa more closely than ever, distrusting nearly everyone who stepped anywhere near the queen even when it was the brunette who had invited them to join her.  
  
For the moment Lexa ignored Anya, giving Lady Monroe a polite nod.  
  
“Lady Monroe, thank you for joining me,” she said and then gestured towards one of the chairs set up around the table. “Please, take a seat.”  
  
Monroe's head tilted curiously to the side even as she bowed, eyes scanning her face as she tried to read Lexa's expression. The queen just lifted her brow by a fraction and then the knight was nodding, moving to the offered chair. “Thank you, Your Majesty, I would be honored.”  
  
As soon as Monroe sat Lexa moved opposite her, not yet sitting at her own spot. She reached forward, grabbing a small knife from where it lay on the table by the bread and cheese and asked, “Can I offer you something to eat? With the upcoming events I'm not sure when I'll have time to eat again and I wouldn't want to be rude.”  
  
The knight hesitated, clearly entirely unsure as to what was going on, but then she nodded. “It all looks delicious, Your Majesty, I would love to join you.”  
  
Lexa cut off a couple of slices of bread and a few hunks from the cheese, doling them out between herself and Monroe. She then poured out two glasses of wine and set one in front of the knight while taking one for herself. Before she could even try to take a sip from it or a bite from her food Anya was by her side, reaching out for her glass. The queen held in a sigh but didn't argue as she handed over her wine, giving Monroe a thin smile across from her.  
  
“After what happened many of my advisers decided it would be wise if I have someone test my food before I eat it,” she informed the knight even as Anya took a long sip from her wine. Her friend put the glass down and then tore off a small piece of bread and cheese and popped both into her mouth, finishing it with one of the grapes Lexa had set in front of herself. “This won't last, but for now while we're making sure we found all of the duchess's spies...” She let herself trail off with an almost imperceptible shrug.  
  
Monroe frowned, glancing from Anya who still stood straight-faced despite the fact she very well might have just consumed something harmful meant for the queen to the queen herself. Neither woman seemed particularly worried but the fact they were even doing this told the knight all she needed to know about how serious things still were in the palace. She'd spent the last few days splitting her time between her own family and the Griffins, feeling more and more attached to the family every day as she got to know them and their people better and better. The queen and her closest advisers had been so busy she'd only really seen her in passing, which is one of the reasons she'd been so surprised minutes ago when Lincoln found her in the bailey and informed her Her Majesty wished to speak with her.  
  
“So you think there are still spies that haven't been found?” she asked, turning her full attention back on the queen. The older woman just met her look calmly, telling her, “We can't know for sure, but it's possible. Captain Indra was able to get quite a lot of information out of some of our prisoners, but there's always the possibility someone got away.” Lexa kept her expression even, not telling her she seriously doubted there were any spies left unnamed; Indra had not been kind to any of the prisoners, some even less so than others, and through her work they'd gotten the name of seven more spies working in the palace that had not been arrested when all of the fighting ended five days ago. Five of those seven had been found and arrested, the other two managing to escape before their names could come up, but the queen had soldiers out looking for them. She was sure they would be found, eventually.  
  
“Is there anything I can do to help with that?” Monroe wanted to know, thinking maybe that's why she'd been summoned. She doubted she could get information out of anyone better than the Captain of the Palace Guard but she would be happy to try, wanting to help locate anyone who had been part of the duchess's coup. To her confusion the queen shook her head, finally lifting her cup of wine. Apparently enough time had gone by without Anya showing any negative reactions to the drink that she felt she could now sip from it.  
  
“No Lady Monroe, I didn't ask you to join me to here to help catch spies,” she stated, and then her brow furrowed slightly. She took a small sip of her wine and then placed the cup back on the table, spinning the stem of the glass lightly with her fingers. “At least, not like this.” She could see the complete confusion pooling in dark eyes that were trying to scan her face. Lexa sat a little further back in her chair, not looking away from the knight before she said lightly, “With Dante and Cage both dead, Mount Weather needs a new leader. I know it's not your land, but I would like you to consider taking the position of Lady of Mount Weather.”  
  
All of the color instantly drained from the knight's face, and if she'd actually had a drink of her wine or bite of her food yet Lexa might have actually believed something was indeed poisoned. Monroe stared at her for a second gape-mouthed, eyes wide, clearly unable to believe what she'd just heard.  
  
“M-me?” the knight finally spluttered, her shock as obvious in her voice as it was on her face. “But, but I, I'm from the Broadlands and, and come from a lesser family. Only two generations of Monroes have even been considered nobility! I can't, can't become the head of one of the thirteen houses!”  
  
Lexa waited patiently as the woman spluttered, still turning her glass on the table in front of her. When the knight finally stopped to try to catch a shaky breath she met her eyes again.  
  
“Mount Weather needs a leader,” she stated simply, not looking away from the knight, “I need it to have a leader I know I can trust. There is no proof that any of their lesser nobility knew about Cage's assistance with Nia's plot but that doesn't mean I can believe they're all innocent. As it is it's the only house that didn't show any resistance when my aunt's allies decided to attack. Right now the entire nation is in disgrace for Cage's treason and his father's help in trying to get him away.” She ever so slightly tipped her glass towards the knight across the table. “Putting you at the head of Mount Weather would mean I know they are being led by someone I can trust, and I'm hoping you would be able to help me weed out any other members of the conspiracy, if there are any.” She tilted her head at the other woman, adding calmly, “It would also be my way of paying you back for what you did for me. You and any children you might have would have a greater title than any you otherwise could have dreamed of.”  
  
“I didn't really do much, Your Majesty,” Monroe blurted out, shaking her head incredulously. She couldn't even begin to believe this was happening, her heart starting to race in her chest, but despite it she couldn't help but be honest. “Really, I just helped Clarke; she's the one who put the plan together to reveal the coup. I was just...” She shrugged as though she were looking for the right word, and then finally finished, “...muscle.”  
  
As it had done every time she'd heard the name over the past week or more, Clarke's name caused a hole to open up in the pit of Lexa's stomach, an anxious fluttering of nerves suddenly filling it. As with each time she forced the reaction back, didn't let the flutterings show in her expression as she informed Monroe evenly, “Lady Clarke is already the head of her house, I can't also make her the head of another. I have every intention of making sure she knows how indebted to her I am, but this isn't how I can repay her.” Monroe was still shaking her head, disbelief flashing in her eyes, and Lexa added, “Before you ask, I can't give this position to Lord Wells either: with his father's execution today he will become the head of his household, and I don't think he would ever agree to leave Lady Clarke and the Griffins anyway. He has made his loyalties to their family and Arkadia very clear.” An eyebrow ticked up as she continued to meet Monroe's stare. “Like you said, your family is new to the noble ranks compared to many of us; leaving the Broadlands and going to Mount Weather should be an easier move for you than it would be for most others. You also have a perspective that nobody else in the higher ranks has, one that I think may be needed in Mount Weather as they try to build back up from their former lords' shame.” She studied Monroe for a moment, giving the knight a few seconds to let her words sink in, and then added a little more softly, “I think this nation needs you, Monroe, and not down at the lower levels of nobility where you are now in the Broadlands. You have proved yourself as a fighter, and I promise you that making this change will be a difficult fight, but I believe it's one that will suit you. You haven't yet had great opportunity to prove yourself as a leader, but I believe you can be one, if given the chance.”  
  
Monroe's mouth opened and then closed a couple of times, no words coming out of it. “I, I don't know what to say,” she finally got out, looking a little dazed, and Lexa nodded. “For now, say that you'll think about it,” she stated, lifting her glass again. “It is a lot to take in, I understand, and this will be a long day for everyone, but I'd like you to really consider it. I will not force the title onto you if you're happy where you are, but I hope you'll truly think about it before you give me your answer.”  
  
Across from her the younger woman gave her a shaky nod, finally reaching out and wrapping her fingers around her own glass. She lifted it up, meeting the queen's eyes again and then she nodded. “I'll think about it, Your Majesty. It is... definitely an honor.”  
  
“But a lot to take in,” Lexa said, finishing the thought she could see in the knight's expression, and Monroe let out a quick scoff. “Yeah, definitely a lot to take in,” she agreed, giving another shake of her head. She grinned then, quirking an eyebrow up at the queen. “I'll say this, I never expected anything like this to happen when I woke up this morning.” Lexa's lips quirked slightly as the knight took a long sip of her wine, amused despite herself. “No, I'm sure you didn't.”  
  
The two women sat together until they'd finished their food and wine and then with a promise to speak more the following day Monroe made her exit, bowing deeply to the queen before she went. The door closed behind her as she left and Lexa helped herself to another half a glass of wine, glancing up briefly to see Titus's brow furrowed once again.  
  
“You disagree with my choice, Titus,” she stated, not having to ask to know exactly what was upsetting him. The adviser hesitated a second and then stepped forward, his hands linking in front of him as he looked at his queen.  
  
“I wonder if there isn't a better one, Your Majesty,” he answered diplomatically. “Being the head to one of the thirteen houses is a great responsibility as well as a great honor. Are you really sure Lady Monroe can handle it?”  
  
Lexa gave a shrug of one shoulder, leaning back a little in her chair as she took a small sip of her wine. “We'll see if she can't,” she told him once she'd swallowed, placing the cup back on the table. “If that happens, then you can tell me I was wrong.”  
  
She saw Titu's jaw clench almost imperceptibly, his lips pursing into a thin line before he said, “I think Lady Monroe has proven she's a great knight, but she isn't someone who can necessarily lead a house. Like you and she both said, her family hasn't even been a member of the nobility for more than two generations.”  
  
“She's got potential,” Anya cut in, turning around and leaning against the table. She reached behind her to grab another grape from the bowl on the platter, popping it into her mouth and then chewing before adding, “Maybe she's not the best choice for this, but she certainly can't be the worst.”  
  
The queen glanced up at her friend, meeting her eyes evenly as she informed her, “If I thought for even one second you would accept the position, I'd give it to you. With your parents already preparing Tris to inherit the Pine title once your father steps down or passes, it would be an easy move.” She raised one of her eyebrows in a mild look, adding, “But I'm sure you wouldn't accept.”  
  
Anya popped another grape into her mouth, returning the queen's look with an even one of her own. “You're right about that,” she agreed with a single, succinct nod. “I won't be leaving your side for some time, especially after everything that's happened recently.” Lexa just turned her look on Titus, as though to say, _See_? The adviser's expression didn't change, his brow still just slightly furrowed.  
  
“The rest of the nobility won't like it, Your Majesty,” he told her. “Of course she needs to be rewarded for her part in stopping Nia but this?” He shook his head. “I'm afraid it's too much. Lady Monroe already has a reputation; after all, she was one of the ones most often bringing Lady Clarke to your parties while she was still... in disguise.” There was a note in his tone when he used Clarke's title that made Lexa bristle, having to do her very best to keep herself from clenching tightly at her glass. “A member of the lesser nobility or even a younger son or daughter of the main houses having relations with a whore is one thing, but having the head of the house involved is another matter entirely.”  
  
Lexa physically bit her tongue to keep herself from mentioning her own time with Clarke, wanting desperately to tell him if that was an issue then they needed a new queen as well as a new head of Mount Weather. She swallowed the words down and just met his look evenly, the very corners of her mouth curling down.  
  
“If it weren't for Lady Clarke, I would be dead Titus,” she reminded him, holding his eyes with her own and refusing to let him look away even as he flinched. “Everything that she did was to find the person responsible for her father's murder, and then she rallied a group of individuals to save me, including Lady Monroe. If the two hadn't already known each other as well as they did Lady Clarke would have had one fewer person there to help her stop my aunt.” She placed her glass back down on the table a little more forcefully than was entirely warranted, the dull _thud_ audible to everyone in the room. “I don't care what either of them did before that, as far as I'm concerned that makes them both deserving of every possible reward I could shower on them, and I'm not so sure Monroe will consider this a reward after her first day of having to lead the lesser nobility of Mount Weather and all their people. Just as likely she'll curse me for giving her what I'm sure will be a difficult job, but I plan to give that difficult job to someone who has proven their loyalty to me. Have I made my reasoning clear?”  
  
He bowed formally from the waist. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he murmured, looking away from her as he bent forward. “My apologies; I won't question you again.”  
  
Anya scoffed beside Lexa where she still leaned against the table, folding her arms over her chest. “Sure you will. It just probably won't be today or about this.”  
  
Lexa hid the way her lips wanted to twitch up, glancing briefly up at Anya as the knight raised an eyebrow at the man. From the corner of her eye the queen could see the bald man's eyes narrow at the blonde as he stood back up and when she looked back over at him Lexa's lips actually did twitch.  
  
“Anya's right, you will question me again,” she stated with a nod. “You're my head adviser, that's your job. What you won't do,” she gave him an even look, “is continue to question me when I've already made my point clear. You also will never call Lady Clarke a whore again.” Now she held his eyes, any trace of joking or lenience wiped away. “Do you understand?”  
  
He held her eyes for a moment and then bowed a second time, looking away again. “I do, Your Majesty. Again, my apologies.”  
  
Lexa just nodded and then turned away from him as there was a knock on the door. Anya stood back up and turned towards it and Titus planted himself behind the queen on her other side as a second later the door opened. Lincoln still stood poised beside it but when Indra and another Guard walked through with Roan between them he closed the door behind them again and then followed the three over towards the table. The duke's hands had been chained in front of him and he walked with his head up, jaw set, not even flinching as one of Indra's hands went to his shoulder, shoving him down onto his knees a few feet away from the table. She and the other Guard stood on either side of the man while Lincoln stepped into place behind him, and Lexa could feel Anya stiffen beside her. For her part the queen sat still, eyes not leaving her cousin as the man stared forward at her before slowly lowering his head.  
  
The queen looked down at him without blinking as he knelt on the other side of the table. After the battle in the Great Hall she'd had him arrested along with every other member of the Ice Nation. The lesser nobility she'd had released before long when there was no clear indication they'd been involved in Nia's treason, but she'd impressed on them none would be leaving the city any time soon. The soldiers – even those who hadn't fought for Nia – had been locked away until Lexa and her people could root out just how deep the corruption went in the Ice Nation, while the duke had been confined to the room the queen had given him when he first arrived at the beginning of the summer. The room had been guarded at all times by no less than two Guards and Lexa had made sure to have him stripped of all his weapons; his meals had been brought to him by only the people Lexa most trusted, effectively cutting him off from anyone he might try to slip any kind of message to. Nothing she could find pointed to him having been involved in his mother's treason, she knew he had even tried to stop her during the battle, but she couldn't quite trust him enough to let him roam free.  
  
Her cousin's presence over the past almost week had made her skin itch whenever she thought about him, never quite knowing what she should do with him. Now she stared at him kneeling before her and carefully weighed her options as the silence drew out between them.  
  
“Remove his chains,” she ordered finally. Indra grit her jaw, obviously not happy with the order, but followed through with it along with the second as the queen continued, “Let him stand.”  
  
Once the duke's hands were free the three Guards around him each took a single step away, giving him just enough room to stand on his own. Indra watched him like a hawk, her fist closing around the hilt of her sword to be ready in case he should try anything and the other two Guards watched him nearly as closely. From the corner of her eye Lexa could see Anya's posture minutely shift, the ease from a moment ago slipping into tense anticipation. It was clear to the queen that not a single person in the room trusted the young man, but despite the number of warriors staring at him Roan never once looked away from Lexa. For her part Lexa simply stared back, meeting his gray eyes with her own, letting the silence spread slowly through the room as the seconds ticked by.  
  
Finally the queen broke the silence again.  
  
“Did you have anything to do with Nia's coup?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost soft. There was a dangerous undertone to her words she made sure he could hear as she continued to meet his eyes. She had her own suspicions but she wanted to be able to watch his expression as he answered, hoping she might find something in it to help her make the decision she could feel weighing on her shoulders. Roan stood proudly in front of her, shoulders back and not cowering beneath the many stares, and didn't look away as he answered simply, “No, Your Majesty. I had nothing to do with it.”  
  
Lexa's eyes flickered over his face, searching for everything she might be able to find there. His beard was longer than usual, less well-kept than she thought she'd ever seen it before, and his hair looked a little greasy. Despite his slightly disheveled appearance he continued to hold himself proudly, back perfectly erect and head tipped just slightly back. The pride she could see in his expression differed from the contempt and arrogance she'd so often seen in his mother's and Lexa felt a little twinge flare up in her chest she then doused immediately after.  
  
“If you had known about it, would you have tried to stop it?” The queen noticed the smallest twitch of his jaw as his teeth clenched and then the duke nodded.  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered. “I knew my mother was jealous of your title, but I think everyone did, including you. I never thought she would go so far.”  
  
“Nia wanted my crown and my throne,” Lexa stated, still not even blinking as she watched the man standing in front of her. She didn't let her expression so much as twitch as she asked, “Do you?”  
  
“No, Your Majesty,” he replied immediately, likely expecting the question. Lexa saw his brow furrow a little before he shook his head. “I've never wanted to be king.” His lips pursed into a thin line. “Maybe that's why my mother never told me about her plans. I don't think she liked that I was happy as I am.”  
  
Lexa's head dipped into a single short nod, still scanning his face. It was all what she'd already believed but watching him as he answered confirmed her suspicions: Roan had had nothing to do with the duchess's plans and he had never shared in his mother's thirst for more power. She could be wrong of course, this could all be an act and maybe she was falling for it, but nothing she'd seen or heard from anyone hinted at anything else. He had been nothing to his mother but an heir, someone to take from her whatever she chose to leave behind for him, and likely she'd never thought about exactly what she'd be leaving behind for him if her plans didn't work out. In some ways he was as much her victim as anyone else, and again that annoying twinge of sympathy reared up in her chest before Lexa could tamp it back down.  
  
For a long drawn out moment the queen stared at her cousin, silently weighing her options. She knew what everyone expected her to do, knew exactly what everyone in the room and likely everyone in the nation thought would happen but another thought that had been playing in the back of her mind the past couple of days pushed forward again, giving her a choice. Her finger twitched against the arm of her chair, nearly moving to tap out a random rhythm as the silence spread but she stilled it before it could really begin moving. Roan stared at her, gray eyes holding hers, a quiet resolution in them that continually tugged at something in the queen's gut. It was the way he continued to hold her stare without looking away that finally made her decide, and as soon as she did she sat a little further back in her chair, head tilting back another fraction.  
  
“Duke Roan Glace of the Ice Nation, I am hereby stripping you of your land and title because of your mother's crimes against the Kongeda and because of her plot to murder me,” she stated, her voice sounding loud after the long silence. He frowned and she could see the others in the room look uncertainly at her, a few of their eyes widening. Lexa didn't look at any of them, not taking her focus off of Roan. “You and any children you may ever sire will no longer be a member of the nobility, nor will you be considered a knight in the eyes of our nation. However, due to the fact that there is no evidence you ever knew of Nia Glace's treachery, I am choosing to allow you to keep your life. If any evidence is ever found to the contrary, I will personally see to it that you pay to the fullest extent of the law just as Nia's other conspirators will do today.” Her eyes flashed then, giving him a dark promise that she meant each and every word. Without looking away from him she nodded to Indra, the captain still standing beside him. “You will join the Palace Guard: from this day until the day you die it will be your duty to protect me and any other member of the royal family, of which you are no longer a part of. Should I or any of my family come into harm's way while you are on duty I will hold you personally responsible.” The threat of what she would do if that should happen hung in the air, unspoken but obvious in her hard stare.  
  
Lexa let the quiet shock from the others in the room grow, watching her cousin's reaction. She knew he had expected to die today along with Nia's conspirators and watched closely as the knowledge he wouldn't slowly spread across his face, his brow furrowing. Her eyes never once shifted, remaining glued to his face as he scanned hers until finally he knelt in front of her, his head dipping low to show his respect.  
  
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, his tone carefully even. He didn't sound relieved or upset but entirely neutral, and Lexa felt a twinge of grudging respect for him because of it. Many would have openly wept at learning their life had been spared while others would have cursed the loss of their title, far too many nobles more concerned with their standing than their own life, but Roan showed neither response. He remained kneeling until Lexa raised her hand and then Indra reached out, roughly grabbing him by the shoulder of his shirt and yanking him back to his feet.  
  
“You will be moved to the Guards' quarters immediately after the executions,” Lexa informed him, purposefully ignoring his thanks. “From this moment forward you will take your orders from Captain Indra or Lieutenant Lincoln.”  
  
“Yes Your Majesty,” Roan replied with another nod of his head. She lifted her hand in a partial wave, dismissing him and the Guards even as she said, “You will attend the executions along with the rest of the Guard.”  
  
At her dismissal Roan and the Guard members turned and left, Lincoln now leading them as Indra brought up the rear, and the other man lightly shoved Roan in front of him. The queen watched them exit with her carefully controlled mask on. She half expected Titus to turn to her the second the door closed demanding to know why she'd chosen to let the other man live but instead he remained standing beside her, only the way his dark eyes flashed indicating he was at all upset by what had just played out in front of him. Relief flooded through her when he didn't move; despite her carefully constructed mask Lexa wasn't entirely certain she'd made the right choice, but it was the one she would now have to live with. At least having Roan in the palace as a member of the Guard meant that she and countless others would be able to keep an eye on him, something the queen had no doubt would happen. After Tristan and the other Guard traitors she knew Indra would be cracking down harder on her people than ever, and between her, Anya and Titus Lexa doubted he would be able to go anywhere or do anything without someone constantly watching him. With this plan his skills could be put to work and Lexa could show the nation that she had no problem knocking even the mightiest people into the dirt. Between this and the executions hopefully it would prevent anyone else from thinking they could rise up against her, but if not she would very quickly make them regret it.  
  
Thinking about the executions the queen shifted slightly in her chair so she could look back out the window. The sun had shifted in the sky to cast long shadows into the room and Lexa lifted her head back a bit before standing, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the floor. With her hands folding behind her back she nodded to Anya and Titus and the knight fell into step with her as she began making her way across the room, the adviser following along just behind them. Lexa knew the crowds would have already formed, the nobility had likely begun to assemble, and the traitors and prisoners were probably being hauled up from their cells at this very moment. With her sword hanging heavily against her hip the queen stepped out into the hallway, her posture settling perfectly as she began making her way out of the palace. 

***

An hour after Lexa privately pardoned Roan and stripped him of his title, Clarke found herself sitting packed in with nearly every other noble in Polis. They'd all taken their places in the stands beside the gallows, each family sitting stiffly apart from the rest, very few people daring to venture outside of their own house now. The summer was supposed to have brought them together and unite the thirteen houses into one nation, but Nia's coup had managed to break them apart again. No one wanted to associate themselves with anyone who had been involved with the duchess's plans in anyway, so now very few people knew who to trust.  
  
For her part Clarke felt countless pairs of eyes on her and she knew if she looked around she'd probably find someone from every house glancing at her, but she just stared in front of her. No one knew what to make of the heiress who'd come back from the dead and even now she could hear people whispering or see them looking at her out of the corners of her eyes. She'd spent the last few days holed up in the palace with her family and friends but the few times she had left their rooms everyone she passed had gone silent the second they noticed her. They would look away, refusing to meet her eyes, and Clarke would just lift her head a little higher but the moment she went by them she would hear the whispering start again. The word _whore_ had been muttered behind her back so often that Clarke felt it must be printed along her forehead, and now people who had flocked around Clarke Blake made sure to give Clarke Griffin a wide berth. No one wanted to be associated with the shamed noblewoman; even Finn, the one who'd tried to steal her away when he thought she could be his own personal mistress hadn't approached her since their brief conversation in the infirmary. She had expected this, had known nothing she could do would ever be enough to make her peers look past what she had done, but she just sat with her head held high. Her mask had fallen into place the moment she'd stepped out of her room that morning, and looking at her no one would know how uncomfortable she felt to be sitting up there. She'd learned how to be a whore too well, and now sitting there in a noblewoman's gown in her family's colors felt wrong. The tight corset and the title suffocated her but she pretended not to notice as person after person stole glances of her.  
  
In front of the stands a crowd of hundreds had formed, and for their part the commoners all assembled didn't seem to sense any of the uncertainties and hostilities blanketing the nobility. People shouted and waved, laughed and shoved against each other, everybody hoping to get closer to the gallows at the front of the large open square. Vendors had set themselves up along the outskirts of the space first thing that morning and now sold breads and cheeses, meats and vegetables on spits. Public executions were always popular, drawing nearly the entire city in to watch them, and Clarke knew the vendors who were able to get a spot at one always left with far fatter purses than the ones they arrived with.  
  
The excited buzz coming from the crowd doubled as movement across the stage where the gallows were set drew everyone's attention. A line of Guards moved in front of it, spacing themselves out evenly in front of the crowd to act as a line of defense to keep those closest to the stage back, and then everyone watched as a group of people made their way onto the stage. Clarke's breath caught in her throat but she stood and dipped into a curtsy along with everyone else as the queen and prince stepped into view. Her head lowered but even so she watched them from beneath her lashes, her heartbeat picking up when she finally caught sight of the queen.  
  
She hadn't spoken with Lexa since the day she'd told the world the truth. After the queen told her about Jasper and Maya's deaths she'd completely broken down one last time, and then for the next couple of days she'd shut herself away from the world, speaking only with her friends and family. The only other time she'd even seen the queen was when they'd burned all of the bodies of those who'd fought for their side but in that moment she hadn't been able to look anywhere but at the flames that danced over the cloths wrapped around Niylah, Jasper and Maya. The few times she'd left her family's rooms she never ran into Lexa, the queen undoubtedly busy dealing with the consequences of the duchess's attempted coup. She honestly couldn't decide whether she was happy or not that she hadn't seen the brunette, not entirely sure what she'd say if they did meet. Part of her ached to see Lexa again, to find out how she was doing and to apologize for lying to her for so long, but another part of her was afraid. She feared that when they finally did see each other she'd find the same look in Lexa's eyes she'd seen in countless faces already, even in her own mother's eyes, and the thought of that judgment coming from the brunette tore a hole open in her chest that Clarke didn't know how to close.  
  
The queen and prince weren't alone as they made their way across the stage. Titus walked with them, his hands clasped in front of him with his head held up high. As always Anya was right beside her queen, one hand resting on the hilt of the blade strapped to her hip as her eyes scanned the area around them, probably more on guard now than ever. Indra and Lincoln led the group, the Guards' eyes scanning much in the same way Anya's did and Clarke knew none of them were likely to relax again for weeks yet. The coup had put everyone on edge and the blonde felt a little pang of sympathy for Lexa shoot through her chest knowing the older woman probably felt more suffocated than ever. Behind them all walked a man with broad shoulders, a black hood pulled up over his face, and Clarke swallowed thickly as he parted from the group and made his way over to the gallows. Six large coils of rope hung down from the rafter above, a small stool standing beneath each and even from where she sat the blonde could see the loop at the end of each rope as they dangled in the small breeze.  
  
Aden and Titus crossed the full length of the stage, Aden taking his place in the smaller throne that had been set up at the side while the adviser stood stiffly beside it. Indra and Lincoln moved to the edge with their bodies angled towards the queen, their eyes never halting in their search for trouble. Lexa and Anya stopped at the stage's center, the knight taking up her spot just behind the queen while Lexa turned out to face the crowd in front of her. Dressed in dark breeches and a green silk tunic a few shades darker than her eyes, she commanded attention, and like the rest of the crowd Clarke gave it to her, holding her breath as that emerald stare scoured the people in front of her. It felt to Clarke like the whole city was on edge while they waited for their queen to speak, but in reality she knew she was the only one unable to breathe.  
  
“People of the Kongeda,” Lexa began, addressing everyone in front of her in a voice that rang throughout the square. Clarke rose along with everyone else and felt herself clench her jaw as she finally stared at the queen straight on. Lexa's gaze slowly scanned the entire crowd, taking everyone in, and the blonde's heart raced. “I'm sure you've all heard why we are here today. Five days ago a plot against my life and our nation was uncovered.” The queen took a step towards the lip of the stage as people booed, telling her exactly what they thought about that. She let them have the moment for a second, and then when the noise began to die down continued, “Duchess Nia Glace plotted to have me killed, and then planned to steal the throne before Prince Aden could be crowned as the nation's new ruler.” The booing picked back up but this time Lexa didn't give them very long before continuing her speech. “Nia is now dead, killed by my own sword, but many of those who plotted with her are still alive. Today we remind the world of what happens to those who try to attack our great nation.” The crowd erupted into cheers, arms waving madly in the air, and Lexa turned to the far side of the stage, nodding before she called loudly, “Bring out the first group of traitors!”  
  
More Guards marched onto the stage, dragging six people in chains along with them. Clarke didn't recognize any of them but knew at once who they must be and felt tears sting at her eyes as the mercenaries were led out onto the stage. Each wore shackles at their wrists and ankles and a long chain secured them together until the first was led to the nearest stool. Down the line each man was set up on a stool with the loop of the rope slipped over their heads and into place around their necks, until each one stood in place. A couple of the men fought against their captors as they were led to their death but the Guards around them forced them forward, setting them up for the queen's command. The executioner got into place behind them, one foot resting on the stool of the man set up closest to the queen.  
  
As soon as they were all in place, Lexa turned towards the line of men. “Landen Bauer, Elyot Barker, Myths Adderson, Kent Hewards, Otis Smithson and Hamon Mikalson: you have been found guilty of planning to commit treason.” She met the mercenary leader's eyes, the man's hatred for her overpowering his fear while the man beside him visibly shook. Lexa didn't look away as she stated, “For this crime I, Alexandria Woods, Queen of the Kongeda Nation, hereby sentence you to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?” Landen said nothing, just spat on the stage in front of him. Lexa wasn't sure exactly what that last act of defiance was supposed to accomplish but she let him have it, her own expression not so much as flinching. She waited for a second to give them the chance to speak if they wanted to but after a moment she looked back at the executioner and nodded a second time. He didn't hesitate, instantly kicking the stool out from under Landen's feet and all at once his body sunk, the rope wrapped around his neck immediately going taut. His feet hovered a foot or so off the ground as his body shook, his chained hands automatically going to the rope tied around his neck. The more he moved the redder his face got, spluttering noises making their way past his lips. His legs kicked desperately for some kind of purchase but they found none, and Lexa didn't look away as the man struggled, his face slowly turning from red to purple and eyes going bloodshot. As he kicked he lost control of his bowels, the foul stench filling the air, and beside him the queen could see the front of the next man's breeches darken as he pissed himself in terror. The crowd in front of the stage came to life, screaming their enthusiasm as they watched the man finally go still.  
  
From her spot in the stands Clarke watched as one by one the stools were kicked out from under their feet, each mercenary in turn thrashing as their body swung at the end of their rope. For those cheering and screaming at every strangled gasp or final twitch the time must have flown by, but for the blonde the afternoon dragged at an agonizing pace. Every time all six people were dead a new group would be dragged onto the stage and set into place and she could do nothing but watch as the whole process started over again. She hated these men and women being lined up in front of her, knew they deserved their deaths, but she also hated watching them die. Each one had murdered, had killed someone else's parent just like Bennet and Jenson had killed her father, but watching body after body finally go slack as their faces swelled and turned purple made her stomach roll. Once every mercenary had hanged the Guards began leading out the soldiers who'd fought for Nia and then it was their turn to hang for the public's entertainment. The crowds cheered their approval and all Clarke could do was watch, her jaw soon aching from how hard she clenched her teeth.  
  
After an hour or so all the soldiers were as dead as the mercenaries, and then Lexa looked across the stage. The man who had once been her cousin stood waiting, a couple of Guards standing just behind him, and she nodded. “Duke Roan Glace,” she called loudly, pulling the cheering crowd's attention back to her. She could feel hundreds of eyes on her as Roan stepped out onto the stage, two Guards following behind him. The man stopped in front of her and dropped swiftly to one knee, his head hanging down to show his respect.  
  
Lexa's voice rang out across the square, the people watching nearly silent as she spoke. “Duke Roan, due to your mother's treason I hereby strip you of your title and seize your land. Neither you nor any of your descendants will ever be considered among our noble ranks again, nor will you be considered a knight of our nation from this day forward.” People in the crowd began murmuring, most of them more shocked to see a duke losing his title than the dozens of people who had already lost their lives. The queen ignored the whispers and quiet exclamations, refusing to take her eyes off of the man kneeling in front of her. “However as there has been no indication you knew of your mother's coup I have chosen to allow you to keep your life. You would do well to think very carefully about how you wish to live out the rest of your days.” The thinly veiled threat could be heard in her tone, and her eyes narrowed as the man's head dipped into a nod.  
  
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Roan said loudly without looking up. “You are gracious, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what my mother did.”  
  
“I'm sure you will,” Lexa just said and then she nodded to the Guards behind him. One of them tapped him on the shoulder and Roan stood back up, meeting her eyes just long enough to give her a nod before he let one of the Guards begin leading him back off the stage, the other falling into place behind him. Once he was gone Lexa turned to nod to the executioner again and he quickly moved, stepping off the back of the stage and then hauling a great big block of wood to its center. Lincoln moved to help him set it in place in the center of the stage and while they worked Lexa looked past them, calling out, “Bring out the rest of the prisoners.”  
  
Clarke watched as those who'd played an active role in Nia's coup were finally led out onto the stage, fury rolling in her gut the second she saw them again. It was clear on sight that none of them had flourished during their time in captivity. Tristan and the other Guard seemed to have born the worst of it, each so covered in bruises and cuts they were barely recognizable. Emerson walked with his head held high but with a limp and the Guards bullied him into moving faster when he slowed down the line. Myers and Illen were both bruised as well but their terror was what truly transformed them. They both shrunk back from the Guards and cheering crowd, curling into themselves as best they could in their chains. Diana still held herself up proudly but even Clarke winced at seeing her disfigured face. She'd heard about Raven's use of the candelabra and now seeing its effects she decided to always stay on her friend's good side. Thelonious's shoulders drooped as though he were exhausted but he never once fought against the Guards as they forced the traitors into place. Ontari brought up the end of the line and even from where she sat Clarke could practically see the hatred brimming off of her. The knight's eyes locked onto the queen the second she was in sight and the way she glared at the queen had Clarke's hands curling into fists in her lap, anger brewing quickly in her chest. She knew there was nothing more Ontari could do with her hands bound and her duchess dead, but even so Clarke wanted to shake her until she showed Lexa the respect she deserved.  
  
The Guards walking with the prisoners forced them to stop once they were lined up across the stage. Lexa's eyes flickered over each of them, her anger filling her chest and spilling over into her limbs as she looked them over. Her eyes locked on the traitor closest to her and she called out evenly, “Tristan Gowe: step forward.”  
  
The Guard behind him shoved him hard in the back when he didn't immediately do as ordered and he stumbled a couple of steps forward. The wooden block Lincoln and the executioner had set up sat on the stage next to him and he hesitated when she ordered, “Kneel.” Lexa watched without blinking as he looked at the block, forcibly swallowed, and then knelt behind it. She didn't have to tell him what to do then, the one-time Guard apparently accepting his fate as he leaned over until his chest was pressed against the block and his head hung over the open space on the other side of it.  
  
“Tristan Gowe,” Lexa began, speaking loudly, “you have been found guilty of treason and of betraying your role as a member of the Palace Guard. Do you have anything you wish to say?”  
  
“No, Your Majesty,” he answered, his voice likely only loud enough that those closest to the stage could hear him. He didn't pick his head up, just stared at the stage as he continued, “I helped the duchess with her plan. I betrayed you and I accept my fate.”  
  
Lexa nodded, one hand falling to the hilt of her sword. “For your crimes you are sentenced to death by beheading.” Only she and Tristan could hear the soft _hiss_ of her sword as she drew it, the crowd's excited roar overpowering it. They continued to cheer as she lifted the weapon and positioned it just behind the man's neck. She could see him stiffen but otherwise he didn't move. She waited one more second, giving him time to get in his last prayers if he had any, and then without warning she moved, her sword becoming a silver blur in the air. Lexa made sure to put a little extra force behind the motion than usual and the next instant Tristan's head was rolling across the stage, his body sagging against the block as blood pooled from the stump that had been his neck.  
  
Once again Clarke's stomach rolled as she watched the Guardsman's head detach from his body and roll a few feet along the stage. A couple of Guards stepped forward to remove the body and head and then the next ex-Guard was led to the block and the entire process was repeated, the queen's sword moving just as swiftly with this execution as it had with the last. Every time a head bounced to the stage all she could see was her father's parting from his body and she had to bite the inside of her cheek again to keep from getting sick. Beside her Madi's hand reached out and grabbed her own and her sister pressed a little closer, either needing comfort or trying to provide comfort. Clarke let her sister ground her, a constant reminder she wasn't tied up in that room again and it wasn't their father's death she was witnessing.  
  
The crowd in front of the stage cheered with every execution as one by one each conspirator was brought forward. Emerson said nothing as he was pushed to his knees, just stared ahead before leaning over the block. Myers screamed and fought, the Guards having to drag him as he desperately pleaded with his father, tears running down his face as he stared at the man watching from the stands. Clarke wasn't the only one who turned to see what Lord Emerys would do as his son cried for his help but the proud man did nothing but stare at his first born as he was forced to his knees on the stage. Beside him Clarke could see Finn trembling lightly and could tell he'd gone pale but his father didn't so much as twitch as the queen raised her sword and brought it down against his son's neck. Myers's head rolled on the stage and then his body was removed and Illen was forced to take his place, and for his part the second son just wept quietly as he bent over the executioner's block.  
  
Diana followed and held herself stiffly as she fell into place, looking to the world as though she regretted nothing but from her spot beside her Lexa could see how her hands shook. Thelonious was next and he didn't try to put up any kind of fight as he was led forward. When the queen asked if he had any last words he simply apologized, his gaze looking straight into the stand of nobles and on her other side Clarke could feel Wells stiffen. She'd tried to convince him to miss the executions, telling him he needed to just rest but he'd refused and told her he needed to see this through. Now his hands clenched into hard fists in his lap and Clarke reached over with her free hand to grab his, tying themselves together. Wells grasped it like a lifeline and didn't look away as his father leaned over the block and the queen's sword ended his life.  
  
With Thelonious gone there was only one more person to go, and the crowd all turned to stare at Ontari as Nia's most trusted knight stood proudly back. She didn't even wait for the Guard behind her to give her a push, the second Thelonious's body was removed from the block she stalked proudly to it, not breaking eye contact with Lexa the entire time.  
  
“My name is Lady Ontari Az of the Ice Nation,” she stated loudly, looking like she was trying to stare Lexa down. Lexa didn't fold under the look, simply met it straight on without flinching as she continued, “I am _proud_ to have had the honor to serve my queen up until the end and I regret only that she was never able to take her rightful place on the throne.” Her eyes narrowed before she shouted, “Long live the queen!”  
  
Lexa didn't look away as Ontari made her speech, just waited patiently for her to finish, anger simmering beneath her skin but not showing in her expression. As soon as the knight finished she raised her brow. “I intend to,” she said, and then before Ontari could react her elbow shot out, catching the knight forcefully in the eye. She hadn't been expecting the blow and took an involuntary step back but Lexa's foot shot out, slamming into the back of her knees. Ontari stumbled forward, dropping to her knees behind the executioner's block. “Lady Ontari Az, you have been found guilty of treason and have been sentenced to death by beheading,” Lexa called out, her piercing gaze not leaving the fallen knight. “And you have already been granted your last words. May the gods have mercy on you because I will not.” With that she brought her sword down one last time, Ontari's shocked expression forever carved into her face as her head dropped to the stage.  
  
With the final traitor dead, the crowd once again roared to life. Fists struck the air, hands curled around mouths to amplify the magnitude of their shouting, and people screamed their excitement. Clarke glanced out at the hoard of people in front of her, hearing many of them screaming their queen's name. Normally to them Lexa was just a faceless figure in the palace, someone to complain about when taxes were collected or sing about in drunken tavern songs. In this moment though Clarke watched as the queen's name was shouted at the top of countless people's lungs, awe and a fierce loyalty striking through the crowd. She knew it wouldn't last and before long these people would go back to their everyday lives where they could care less about the queen and her nobility, but at the moment their cheers made Clarke's heart race in her chest, her blood pumping wildly. At the front of them all Lexa stood up on the stage still, her sword now lowered down by her side, steady drips of blood rolling off its blade to pool beneath it. Her long hair whipped gently around her face in the small breeze, looking like a wild thing brought to life. She stood in front of her people proud and determined and Clarke's throat closed up, her heart skipping a beat or two as she momentarily forgot to breathe.  
  
The queen gave the crowd a few seconds to cheer once Ontari was dead, let them revel in it before taking a single step towards the edge of the stage. About half of her audience went quiet at the movement, the other half still yelling, and finally she lifted her sword up, grabbing everyone's attention.  
  
“People of Polis, of the Kongeda,” she shouted so she could be heard by everyone in front of her, “today is an important day. Today we rid our nation of those who thought they could get away with murder, with stealing that which never belonged to them. Today we show the world how strong we are, but it is not my strength that they will see. It's yours.” She paused then, giving her words a chance to sink over the crowd as her eyes raked over the people in front of her. She could see many people's eyebrows go up, surprise appearing on their faces, and felt a new fire suddenly burning in her chest. “A queen can only be as strong as her people, and I am strong because my people are unstoppable.” She used her sword to gesture across the stage, shouting, “It may have been my sword that ended Nia Glace's life, but it wasn't me that stopped her conspiracy: her plans came to an end when a group of nobles and common-born joined together and decided to stop them, _they_ were the strong ones.” Every fiber of Lexa's being wanted to look over to the stands and find one specific pair of blue eyes undoubtedly watching her but she fought against it. Instead she continued to look out in front of her, standing proudly as countless pairs of eyes stared up at her, awe shining in many of them. “The Kongeda is great because its _people_ are great: never forget that. When the world looks at our nation and thinks we can be defeated, remember we can't be; when someone like the duchess or the Reapers think they can step in and steal what is ours, remind them that the Kongeda gives way to no one! If we are strong our nation will be strong, and with our strength we _will_ overcome every obstacle in our way!” The fire burning in her gut spread to her limbs, her entire body tingling as the energy in the square wrapped around her. Lexa's fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade and she let everything she felt show in her expression, her hard eyes glinting as she looked out at her people. The energy built and built and built inside her until she had to let it out, and then all of a sudden she thrust her sword up into the air, shouting, “For the Kongeda!”  
  
“For the Kongeda!” a great chorus echoed behind her, the words ringing so loudly she felt sure even people more than a mile away must be able to hear them. The words turned into a cheer, fists thrusting into the air and hands waving wildly, and Lexa's heart raced as her cheeks heated up from her people's excitement. She drank the moment in, reveling in the energy around her, and let her eyes fall closed for a second as she just listened to the cheers.  
  
Clarke's mouth hung open in awe, eyes wide as she watched Lexa thrust her sword into the air. Her heart jumped to her throat as hundreds of voices turned into one as the crowd took up the cheer, pride flooding her chest. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as countless people shouted their love for the queen and very slowly her mouth curled up. The moment may not last, these people may very well go back to barely giving the queen a second thought tomorrow, but in this moment Lexa had them, had every single person in the square before her, and that was enough to drive the air from Clarke's lungs.  
  
For what felt like endless minutes Lexa stood up on that stage as her people shouted their love at her, but finally Clarke watched as her sword lowered. The queen gave her people one final nod and then turned and Anya, Aden, Titus, Indra and Lincoln fell into place around her. The blonde watched as they left the stage to even more cheers, and Clarke just sat for another moment, desperately trying to reel in her emotions as they spun wildly through her. She might have dropped her head into her hands if Wells and Madi hadn't still been holding them, so she just closed her eyes and took a shaky breath as she tried to center herself again.  
  
“Are you okay?” Madi asked her, leaning a little closer so she could be heard over the shouting of the crowd. Clarke opened her eyes and gave her a small smile before nodding.  
  
“I am,” she answered, not knowing how to tell her sister that seeing Lexa up there in her glory just took her breath away. For the moment she fought to push thoughts of the queen away and glanced over the younger girl, brow furrowing slightly as she asked, “Are you okay?”  
  
“I'm just glad it's over,” Madi answered with a nod. She looked back at the blood-soaked stage and shivered: she would never understand how people could get so much enjoyment out of public executions. Her sister squeezed her hand and she glanced back at Clarke, instantly better when she found the bright blue eyes she'd never forgotten still looking at her.  
  
A hand fell to Clarke's shoulder and she looked behind her to see her mother sitting forward on her own bench.  
  
“Come on,” she said even as the Millers and Kane stood up around her. She looked between her daughters and over to Wells. “We should go.” They all nodded in agreement and stood as well and began making their way down from the stands. Other nobles around them were moving as well, but whenever they passed any of them the other families would give them space, all trying to keep their distance from the Arkadians and their disgraced noblewoman. Clarke walked passed them without looking at any of them, her spine straight and jaw clenched.  
  
Once again on solid ground they made their way between the stands and the stage to head back to the palace, finding Bellamy and Octavia waiting for them. Only members of the nobility had been able to sit up on the benches so the Blakes had watched everything from the side of the stage, standing with the Guardsmen who'd been busy watching the crowd and getting the prisoners on the stage. Both Blakes seemed to have been accepted into their ranks ever since they'd helped stop Nia, and as she approached them Clarke watched two of the Guardsmen grin at whatever Octavia had been saying while Bellamy rolled his eyes and shook his head beside them. He noticed the Arkadian nobles approaching first and immediately turned towards them, jogging over to meet them. Octavia flashed her friends a mock salute and then followed behind her brother.  
  
“Abby,” Bellamy greeted as he met them, his eyes skimming over her face and then shifting to look over the other two Griffin women. “What do you want to do now?”  
  
People would be celebrating for hours yet, commoners yelling and drinking in the streets and many of the nobility would likely gather together either at the palace or at one of the inns they were staying at to celebrate in their own way. The idea of mustering up enough energy to pretend to enjoy herself exhausted Clarke, already teetering on the edge of what she thought she could handle after a few hours filled with heavy emotions, so when her mother started shaking her head she let out a silent sigh of relief.  
  
“Let's go back,” the acting Lady of Arkadia said, glancing over their group. As usual her eyes lingered on Clarke for just a second longer than anyone else and the blonde made sure to meet them, not letting any of her exhaustion show in her expression. “I think we could all use a rest after that, and I want to check on Raven. You know she's probably pushed herself while no one was around to keep an eye on her.”  
  
Octavia let out a little scoff, one corner of her mouth tugging up. “Of course she did, she's Raven. What else would you expect?”  
  
“Because you never push yourself harder than you should,” Madi added dryly, brow barely rising as she gave the brunette a look and Octavia just grinned at her. Clarke watched the interaction, her heart giving a strange tug in her chest even as she smiled. It was still strange seeing what had changed and what hadn't while she'd been away from them, and every time Madi and their friends would joke around like this she was reminded of just how much of their lives she'd missed. They were all a family despite their different titles and as hard as they all pretended to act as though nothing had changed between them all, Clarke couldn't help but feel a bit like an outsider.  
  
Wells stepped up beside her, his hand going to her shoulder as though he could read what she was thinking, and she looked up at him and gave him a small smile before raising an eyebrow.  
  
“You should get back to bed,” she told him, looking at the bandage wrapped around his neck. There wasn't any sign that his trip outside of the palace had caused any further damage, but she'd still feel better when he was resting again.  
  
“Whatever you say, Clarke,” he said, his voice a little hoarse but sounding stronger than it had the day before. Now back with their friends and family he'd finally gone back to using her name more often and that at least was one change she liked. He squeezed her shoulder once and then let his hand drop, and their party began making their way back towards the palace.  
  
Once inside again they headed towards the rooms the queen had granted them, and to no one's surprise Raven wasn't in any of them. Their group split up, Abby, Kane and the older Miller staying behind to talk about the day's events while Wells went to get some rest, and the rest of them went in search of the missing brunette. They all had a pretty good idea where she would be.  
  
They guessed right: walking into the library they found Raven sitting in a large chair, her bad leg propped up on a stool beside her. Apparently she'd pushed it too hard during the fighting because five days later it was still bothering her. Abby had ordered her to take it easy until she could walk on it again without limping, which meant she'd spent most of the past few days in bed. She'd complained of boredom practically the entire time, so Clarke wasn't at all surprised she'd taken her chance at freedom the second the older woman was away.  
  
She wasn't sitting alone. Harper and Monty sat with her, Monty in a chair right next to hers while Harper sat across from them. Raven had a big book open on her lap and it looked like Monty was pouring over it with her, the two locked into a conversation about whatever it was they were reading about. Harper was curled up in her chair, her head resting on its arm and eyes half closed as she listened to the two of them debating back and forth, but when she saw Clarke and the rest of them walk into the library she perked up.  
  
“Finally!” she exclaimed dramatically as she looked over at them. “I'm so bored listening to these two I thought I was gonna go crazy!” She rolled her eyes as she finished and the corners of Clarke's mouth twitched.  
  
“Sorry Harp,” she said, making her way over to her friend. She perched on the arm of the chair Harper had been resting against and looked over at the two across from her. Raven's attention was still on the book but Monty at least had picked his head up, flashing Clarke a smile she returned. “You really should have known better than to come to the library with them though.”  
  
As Clarke had always suspected they would if they ever met, Raven and Monty had connected almost seamlessly. She was pretty sure Raven still intimidated Monty at times – even for the toughest people, the brunette took some getting used to – but when Raven had told him about the library two days ago and Monty had brought her back an armful of books after his first trip the two had practically become connected at the hip. Harper tagged along with them when she had to but she spent most of her time rolling her eyes and giving Clarke various looks. She had far more fun when Monroe was around, or joking with Bellamy and Octavia. Her friendship with the Blakes hadn't been quite as immediate as Monty's with Raven, but it was clear to Clarke that it was headed in that direction, and for that she was thankful. With Niylah, Maya and Jasper gone she had no plans to send them back to The Rig unless they wanted to go, and growing closer to her Arkadian family would help them feel less like outsiders. Clarke knew they were still having a hard time getting over the loss of their other friends, something that still weighed heavy in her chest as well, but at least it seemed to be a little easier for them with these new people around.  
  
“Raven you are in trou-ble,” Octavia sang, plopping herself down on the arm of the brunette's chair like Clarke had done on Harper's. She grinned at the older girl, shaking her head. “You were supposed to stay in bed and now Abby knows you didn't. She's not gonna let you out of her sight for a week.”  
  
The older brunette shrugged, one side of her mouth turning up. “In my defense, it was my plan to get back into bed before she ever knew I'd left it, but then Monty found this book on catapults and I forgot.” She grinned over at Monty who'd gone quiet beside her, winking at him as she added, “We're gonna build one, as soon as my leg's back to normal.”  
  
“I should have known better than to let you two meet,” Clarke muttered as she shook her head. Raven just flashed her a grin, one arm reaching out and wrapping around Monty's shoulder and pulling him closer to her. “But you did and now you're just gonna have to deal with the consequences!” Monty blushed a little, rubbing at the back of his head, and Harper let out a laugh.  
  
“Get him to make you some ale sometime,” she told Raven, nodding to the boy. “He's a genius at it, though he'll never admit it. I still don't know why he works at The Rig when he could have made a living running his own tavern.”  
  
“I only go to taverns when people pay me to, how would I know how to run one?” Monty mumbled, sitting up a little straighter as Raven released her grip on him. He looked over to see her and Octavia watching him and lifted his shoulder. “I could make you some ale sometime though. Apparently I'm pretty good at it. Jasper-” He cut himself off, having to swallow thickly at his best friend's name. “He always really liked it at least, and he drank a lot of ale.”  
  
A flare of her own pain struck through Clarke at seeing Monty's, but the guilt and hurt that had filled her chest so completely for the first few days after her friends' deaths didn't hit her as badly as usual. She would have moved over to Monty to try to comfort him but Miller did that for her, stepping over to stand behind the other boy's chair and giving his shoulder a light squeeze. They'd spent a lot of time together recently too and seemed to be growing closer, and Clarke was just glad that Monty had people around him happy to support him.  
  
“I'm always happy to drink a good ale,” Octavia said, flashing Monty a grin. Bellamy let out a noise behind her and they all looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at his sister, telling her, “And then you get drunk and go around challenging everyone to a fight and I have to drag you away before anyone actually agrees to one.”  
  
“Hey, I can take 'em,” she argued and Raven snorted beside her. “Yeah sure, when you're sober maybe, but when you drink too much you can barely walk in a straight line.”  
  
The two brunettes began bickering back and forth until Bellamy attempted to cut in to end it but somehow he ended up getting sucked right into the argument as well. Clarke watched them, shaking her head lightly as warmth began pooling in her chest. All of a sudden it felt like she was fourteen again and they were in the Arkadian library, as though no time had gone by. Madi was also shaking her head and when Clarke glanced over their eyes met and the sisters shared a look before Madi moved over to her and Clarke wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulder, pulling her closer as they turned their attention back over to their friends and just listened to them argue.  
  
Clarke let them argue for a few long minutes, soaking up the nostalgia, until finally she broke in, reminding them they were supposed to be convincing Raven to leave the library and get some rest. The older brunette grumbled, clearly unhappy about it, but finally they coaxed her out of her chair and their entire group made their way to the hall, Monty grabbing the book they'd been looking at and tucking it under his arm.  
  
Abby, Marcus and David Miller were sitting around a small table while Captain Bryne stood back by the wall in the small meeting room next to the bedrooms the Arkadians had been given when they walked by the door. Abby saw them and stood up, breaking away from their conversation to make her way into the hall, her arms crossing over her chest as she gave Raven a look. The brunette looked up at her sheepishly and then just shrugged. “What can I say, I was bored and there's a library here.”  
  
The excuse just made Abby shake her head. “Raven, I know you're bored, but you need to rest. Your leg isn't going to heal if you don't let it.”  
  
“I know,” the brunette sighed, sounding very much like a scolded child right then and Clarke had to cover her mouth so they wouldn't see her grin. Despite her best attempts Raven saw it, her eyes narrowing. “Just wait until it's you, Griffin,” she muttered, giving her a look as Abby began to usher them towards the room Raven and Octavia and now Harper were sharing. “See if I help you sneak away when _you're_ being told you have to rest.”  
  
“I was always better at sneaking away, Reyes,” Clarke replied easily. She gestured to Octavia, adding, “You and O always made too much noise and got caught.”  
  
“None of you were as good at it as you thought you were,” Abby said dryly, looking between the three young women. “I had servants coming to me every day telling me about what you were getting into. Your teachers threatened to leave on more than one occasion because they couldn't get you to sit still through an entire lesson. I had to soothe their wounded egos while your father just laughed.”  
  
The memories of those happy times spun through Clarke's mind and she couldn't help but smile, sharing the motion with her mother when their eyes met.  
  
They'd managed to cajole Raven back into bed, Abby still giving her a lecture of why it was important she not push herself harder than her body could take, when a knock on the frame of the door interrupted her. Everyone looked over to see who it was and Clarke felt her good mood wash away, her back automatically straightening as she met Titus's eyes. He held them for a second before turning to her mother, just barely dipping into a respectful bow as Abby gave him a curious look.  
  
“Lady Abigail, my apologies for interrupting,” he stated, not looking away from her even as his shoulders tipped forward. “I would like to speak with Lady Clarke when she has a moment, if you don't mind.”  
  
Clarke was getting up from where she'd been sitting at the foot of Raven's bed before he even mentioned her name. “We can speak now, Lord Titus,” she told him, donning her best noblewoman mask as she began to make her way to the door. “We can go into my room if you would like.”  
  
Before she could walk by her mother Abby gave her a look, her eyes widening just a fraction and lips pursing. “I don't think that would be proper, Clarke,” her mother insisted, glancing quickly from her daughter to Titus and then back again. Clarke almost sighed but managed to hold it in, rubbing lightly at her forehead before she evenly met her mother's look, fully knowing what she was thinking. Normally an unmarried woman of her rank wouldn't be allowed in a room alone with a man, especially not a bedroom. The impropriety of it would smudge the woman's reputation, but the blonde simply raised an eyebrow at her mother.  
  
“Mother, this is far from the least proper thing I've ever done,” she reminded her and she wasn't surprised when her mother's jaw noticeably clenched before she looked away. Clarke knew Abby hadn't yet come to terms with what she'd had to do after walking away from Arkadia no matter how hard she tried to hide her dislike of it, and like every other time her mother couldn't quite look at her she felt shame burn hotly in her chest. She forced the feeling aside, holding her head up a little higher and pretended it didn't affect her as she continued making her way towards the doorway. She had a feeling she knew what the adviser wanted to talk to her about and continued, “Lord Titus and I need to speak in private, and when we're done I'll meet back up with you and Lord Kane and Lord Miller.”  
  
Her mother still didn't look happy about it but she nodded, apparently deciding not to put up anymore protest. From the slight dip at the corners of Titus's mouth he wasn't any happier than her mother but he didn't argue, just stepped to the side as she walked out of the room and then followed her the short distance down the hall to the room she'd been given once everyone realized who she was. Clarke opened the door and let him enter first, keeping a polite expression on her face as he passed her but not taking her eyes off of him. She highly doubted she was in any danger, didn't think he'd attack her now that he knew who she was, but she could still feel phantom fingers closing around her throat every now and then, the bruises gone but the impression they'd left still very much alive in her memory. As she stepped into the room behind him and pulled the door closed one hand fell down to her side, brushing up against the knife she could feel in her pocket. Some habits died hard, especially when they'd helped keep her alive for so long.  
  
The bedroom wasn't very big by palace standards, but compared to her room at The Rig it was gigantic. A large bed was pressed against the left wall, silk sheets covering it along with a mountain of pillows. It was perfectly made, not a single crease in the sheets. It was the picture of sophisticated comfort, but Clarke had yet to sleep in it, instead choosing to spend her nights with her sister as the two tried to catch up on all their lost time. Across from the unused bed a large chestnut wardrobe stood against the opposite wall, a small set of drawers beside it with a little mirror attached to the top of it. In the center of the room was a round table, a vase of fresh flowers sitting in the center of it. Three chairs were set up around the table, each pushed in and so far untouched except by those who dusted them daily. Across from the doorway was a double-door that opened up onto a small balcony, and at the moment those doors were open so that the slight breeze could circulate through the room. Titus stood stiffly by the table, ignoring the layout of the room, his eyes already on Clarke as she turned to face him.  
  
The blonde took a few more steps into the room, carefully eyeing over the adviser while keeping an even expression. “What can I do for you, Lord Titus?” His arms folded together in front of him, hands dipping into his long sleeves and she glanced from them back to his face as he said simply, “You haven't spoken with her Majesty yet.”  
  
“She's been busy,” Clarke replied, pretending she didn't notice the way her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the queen. “She had a lot of work to do before today's executions.”  
  
Titus's head dipped into a shallow nod, his dark eyes never leaving her face and Clarke knew she was being studied intently. She stood tall beneath his scrutiny, not breaking eye contact with him as he asked, “And when you do speak with her. Is there anything specific you plan to talk about?”  
  
Clarke stepped closer to the table, dropping one hand to it as a single eyebrow cocked up at him. “Do you mean do I intend to tell her about the men you hired to kill me?” His lips pursed together tightly, something almost resembling guilt flashing across his eyes before he gave a single, succinct nod. She studied him for a second, weighing her options over carefully as she thought them through. It had crossed her mind once or twice that she now had the power to actually make him pay for what he'd done rather than just make vague threats, but she'd had far more important things to think about this past week than him. Now she chewed thoughtfully at the inside of her lip as she considered it and he stood stiffly, watching her in silence.  
  
“No,” she finally said, the single word almost feeling heavy in the space between them. “No, I'm not going to tell her.”  
  
He wasn't able to hide the surprise that sparked across his face for a second, and then he was looking at her suspiciously. “Why not?” he wanted to know. “You're a noblewoman; I hired men to hurt you. Why wouldn't you say anything now that you have your title back and have the power to get your revenge?”  
  
“I spent seven years searching for my revenge and I only just managed to find it,” she answered, and if her exhaustion was audible in her tone then so be it. “I'm too tired to go looking for more now.” She frowned then, looking away from him and staring off for a second before adding quietly, “Besides, you're like a father to her: telling her what you did, putting her in that position, it would only hurt her.” Clarke glanced back at Titus, finding him still studying her with his brow furrowed. “She's been through enough recently, don't you think?”  
  
Very slowly the adviser nodded, still not looking away from her. He didn't say anything, the silence stretching out between them again, and as Clarke stared at him a thought that had buried in the back of her mind for a while nudged itself to the surface. She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted the answer to her next question, but then she heard herself saying, “I want you to answer one question for me.”  
  
Titus's brow rose slightly. “What is your question?”  
  
Clarke's heartbeat picked up just a little bit, her mouth getting a little dry but even so her voice remained even as she asked, “Did you have anything to do with Costia leaving the palace?” She'd silently wondered about it ever since Lexa had told her about the servant girl she'd fallen in love with. If Titus had noticed the queen getting closer to Clarke, he must have been able to see the relationship that had bloomed right here in the palace, and now the blonde held her breath as she waited for the answer.  
  
The subtle clench of his jaw answered the question before he could say anything, and Clarke felt heat build up in her chest. Titus held his head just a fraction higher, telling her, “If you mean did I have anything to do with Nia getting a hold of the girl, no. I heard servants talking of her sick mother and convinced her it would be better for everyone if she left the palace, but I had no idea the duchess sent her spies after her once she left.”  
  
Sorrow and anger for this faceless girl burned its way up Clarke's throat, and she met the adviser's eyes with a piercing stare. The hand that was still resting on the table balled up into a fist as she felt herself stand a little taller. “You will never interfere with the queen's personal life again, do you understand me?” she told him, taking a single step closer. Her voice was hard, dangerous, and she let the fury she felt strengthen it. “You will advise her on matters of the nation but you will never try to tell her what to do with her own life again. You _especially_ won't try to fix things for her like you did with me and Costia. If I ever find out you have I will tell the queen everything, every little thing that you've done, and you will pay for it. Understand?”  
  
He stared at her, his eyes hard and jaw clenched, but nevertheless his head dipped into the tiniest nod. “I understand.”  
  
“Good.” They held each other's eyes for another few seconds as though there were a battle of wills taking place and Clarke only looked away when there was a sudden knock on her door. She held in a sigh, figuring it must be her mother or one of her friends sent by her mother, and shot him another look before turning away from the table. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, her hand hovering near her pocket just in case he tried anything. Clarke was so focused on the man standing on the other side of the room behind her that she wasn't expecting it as she opened the door and found someone other than her mother standing on the other side. Her eyes widened and heart jumped to her throat as she found Lexa waiting for her, those green eyes seeming to instantly meet hers the second they could. Anya stood stiffly behind her but the blonde couldn't look anywhere but at the queen.  
  
“Your Majesty,” Clarke stated dumbly, too surprised to say anything else. Her mind whirled and went blank at the same time but she managed to remember to fall into a deep curtsy, quickly glancing away from the brunette. “What... What are you doing here?”  
  
“I was hoping I could speak with you,” Lexa said, her eyes not leaving Clarke as the blonde fell into the curtsy. The second she saw the younger woman her heart began to beat more quickly, a bundle of nerves breaking loose in her stomach. Being this close to Clarke again was both a relief and terrifying, and she felt her nerves flutter up into her chest even as she kept her expression relatively clear.  
  
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Clarke replied, getting a hold of herself. She bit the inside of her cheek to try to clear her head and then rose, and by the time she was once again standing up her expression at least was calm, even if her heart wasn't. She gestured towards the room, saying, “Please come in.”  
  
Lexa did, the corners of her mouth curling into a small smile as she passed the blonde. To Clarke's surprise Anya only scanned the room and then stayed out in the hall, setting herself up beside the door. The blonde hesitated but then shut it, and when she turned around she found the queen's smile had fallen away, her brow furrowing as she looked at her adviser still standing on the other side of the room. “Titus,” she said, glancing quickly between the man and the younger woman. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Lady Clarke and I were just talking, Your Majesty,” he answered as he bowed low. When he rose he briefly looked over at the blonde, meeting blue eyes again that held his own for a second before he continued, “But we were just finishing up.” He hesitated and then gave Clarke a small bow, nowhere near as deep as the one he'd just given the queen. “Thank you for speaking with me, Lady Clarke. I'm glad we were able to come to an agreement.”  
  
“I am too, Lord Titus,” Clarke replied, giving him a nod back. “Thank you for finding me.” He nodded and then headed towards the door, giving the queen another small bow as he passed her, and then the door closed and Clarke and Lexa were alone for the first time since their night together at the Dropship. For a few long awkward seconds the two just stood still, looking at each other and then away again, until Lexa cleared her throat.  
  
“What was that about?” she asked, and Clarke shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, “Titus and I just needed to talk about something, it's nothing to worry about.” She looked down, for the first time realizing the queen had a book tucked under one of her arms, and she nodded to it. “What's that?”  
  
Lexa looked down at the book, shifting it so she held it against her chest. “It's something I've been working on. I wanted to show it to you.” Her grip on the book tightened a little, her nerves increasing with every second. She'd been responsible for killing dozens of people only a short time ago but still this was the most nerve-wracking thing she'd done all day, maybe even ever in her life. Despite her nerves she knew she needed to do this, knew she _wanted_ to do this, and took the few remaining steps towards the table. Once there she placed the book on its surface, her fingers brushing lightly over its cover to try to help calm her nerves, but it couldn't possibly help as Clarke stepped over to join her.  
  
“I would be happy to take a look, Your Majesty,” she said, glancing away from the brunette to look instead at the book's leather cover. Too many emotions swam through her gut and the more she looked at Lexa the harder those emotions became to decipher, so focusing on something else seemed like the safest option.  
  
Lexa's eyes flickered over to the blonde as she bit her lip lightly. “Is that what I am now?” she asked quietly, searching Clarke's face. “I'm the queen again now that you're Lady Clarke?” She caught something flash across a pale face and blue eyes closed. When they opened they couldn't look at her, Clarke's entire body shifting slightly away from the brunette.  
  
“You were always the queen, Your Majesty,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light but Lexa could hear something heart-breaking beneath it. “We always knew that. And I'm... I'm just... me, I guess. Whoever that is.”  
  
“You're the woman who showed me my city,” Lexa informed her, unable to look away from the younger woman even as Clarke seemed unable to look at her. “You're the one who taught me what life is like for the majority of my people.” Clarke still didn't look at her, her eyes purposefully staring at the wall as though something about it thoroughly interested her. In an attempt to get her to turn, the queen added lightly, “I saw Kinder, Mimmie and Henley the other day. They miss you.”  
  
It did the trick: the blonde quickly turned, her brow shooting up before quickly furrowing as her eyes scanned Lexa's face. “When did you...?”  
  
“I took the food meant for the tournament into the city,” the older woman answered easily. “I wanted one good thing to come out of everything that happened.”  
  
Clarke had heard about that and now she nodded even as her heart squeezed in her chest. She'd been catching up with her mother and Madi that night when Octavia informed them that the queen had gone into the city with a couple of squads of Guards and wagons full of food, and it had been hard for her to appear unaffected as her heart swelled. Lexa never ceased to amaze her and in that moment it had been hard to breathe as she thought of all of the people who would benefit from the queen's generosity, even just for one night.  
  
“I heard about that,” she said, her voice softening a little without entirely meaning to. “That was... really good of you to do that.” Lexa smiled at her and Clarke hated that it made her heart flutter, desperately wishing the brunette didn't have this kind of power over her and secretly aching for more.  
  
“It was a start,” the queen replied with a shrug, glancing back down at the book in front of her. She stared at it for a second before she murmured, “There's still a lot left to do.”  
  
“If anyone can do it it's you,” Clarke told her, the corners of her lips pulling up a little and Lexa's eyes flickered back over to her. She scanned her face, trying to re-memorize every detail. This Clarke with the short blonde hair might be even more of a mystery than the Clarke with the long burgundy locks but those blue eyes were the same and Lexa felt herself drowning in them just as easily as ever as they stared at her.  
  
“Maybe,” she finally said, her shoulders rising in a slight shrug. She made sure to keep her voice even as she added, “But I'm going to need help to do it. I need someone by my side if I'm going to be successful.”  
  
Bile rose in the back of Clarke's throat and her stomach rolled. The thought of someone else beside Lexa, of sharing her thoughts and concerns, her accomplishments and set-backs made her feel a little sick, but she told herself it was just her exhaustion after a long and grueling day. “I'm sure there are plenty of men who would jump at the chance to be the person helping you.” She grimaced, eyes scanning the queen's face for a second and then she added more softly, “I'm sorry. I know that's not... I know that isn't a happy thought for you, but I'm sure you can find someone who will make it all a little more bearable.”  
  
To Clarke's surprise the look in Lexa's eyes shifted, the discomfort she'd expected to find never appearing. Instead the brunette stood up a little straighter, her hands shifting behind her back, and the single motion tugged at the younger woman's heart as she tried to push the feeling back.  
  
“Titus has been telling me for years now I need to find a husband,” Lexa said, and Clarke shifted a little as emerald eyes stared into her. “He's told me my nation needs me to secure my line and birth an heir, that it's my duty.”  
  
“I know,” Clarke told her, needing to look away again. She walked over to the open doors that led out to the balcony, staring at the outline of the city because she could no longer look at the queen without her throat burning. “You should choose Nyko. Or maybe Ryder. They both seem to be good men who would make decent enough kings.”  
  
“I don't want Nyko or Ryder,” Lexa stated, and Clarke could hear the soft scrape of her boots on the stone floor as she stepped up behind her. She didn't turn around, couldn't as she heard the queen move closer to her. Memories of the brunette's touch against her skin had goosebumps rising along Clarke's arms as the queen stepped closer, and she had to swallow thickly to try to push the reaction away. Lexa's footsteps stopped behind her and again the blonde could feel the hairs at the back of her neck standing up. The queen continued and Clarke stared straight ahead, wishing they could go back to earlier in the summer when times were simpler and they had briefly just been able to be themselves, forgetting about the order of the world around them.  
  
“Titus thinks what this nation needs is an heir, but he's wrong. It already has an heir. Aden is fourteen and perfectly capable of ruling if something were to happen to me.” The thought made even more bile rise up in the back of the blonde's throat but she swallowed it down. That was exactly what she had just come back from the dead to prevent from happening and she didn't like the queen talking about it so casually. She shifted, not turning around, and heard the other woman take another step closer. “What my nation needs is someone who understands it. Not someone who just understands pieces of it but the nation in its entirety. Someone who can easily converse with royalty without any problems but could then turn around and understand the woes of the lowliest street urchin. It needs someone who cares so much about its people that she would do anything for them.”  
  
No matter how hard she fought it, Clarke's throat began to burn as the queen spoke and no amount of swallowing could soothe it away. Her eyes widened and she could feel her face flush a little, very much picking up on the pronoun at the end. Her heart began racing faster than ever and she had to take a couple of shaky breaths to try to regain control of its wild beating as her mind went blank once again. Too shocked to remember it hurt to look at the queen she turned, her wide eyes finding the brunette watching her with a careful expression.  
  
“Your Majesty-” she began, shaking her head, but Lexa cut her off.  
  
“Did you know I have gone my entire life with teachers filling my head with ideas about what the world is?” she asked, her tone too light and airy not to be suspicious. Now she moved to stand beside the younger woman, also staring out over the city in front of them. “Just ideas. Perceptions. Most of which I believed to be true until I met you.” Lexa shook her head, her lips curling up into a soft smile as she turned just enough to watch the blonde out of the corner of her eyes. Clarke's cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright, and it made the queen's heart skip more than one beat in her chest. “I met you and you gave me more than just ideas. You _showed_ me, Clarke. You told me I had no idea what the world was like and you were right. I learned more from you in a couple of months than I did with twenty years of teachers.” She turned her focus back to the city and took another step forward, resting her hands against the stone rail in front of them as her eyes raked over the sight she'd only truly begun to understand after she met this incredibly confusing woman beside her. Her voice was quiet as she continued, “You led me around the streets of my city and opened my eyes to its simplistic beauty and its ugly truths. You taught me how to interact with people on a personal level without all the pomp and foolishness of titles and bloodlines. I am a better queen because of what you taught me and a better person.”  
  
Clarke couldn't fully believe what she was hearing. “But the nation-”  
  
“-Needs someone who truly understands it,” Lexa stated, not letting her speak. “Someone who can look out this window and see more than buildings that need repairing and streets that need work. You see the people in them. You can sympathize with the bakers and merchants and inn owners in a way no other noble can. When you hear them talk about their troubles you _know_.”  
  
“I can't-” Clarke began, her mind spinning. Never in a hundred years would she have expected to be having this conversation, no matter how many times she'd dreamed of green eyes and a soft smile she thought maybe only she ever got to see. She licked her lips, her heart racing. “What, what you're saying, it's... It's not possible. You're the queen and I'm... I'm not even a noble anymore, not really. I'm in disgrace.”  
  
After who she'd become she never expected to have any marriage offers from anyone. No one wanted to marry a woman who'd been with countless others from all walks of life. She'd fully planned to give up her birthright in favor of her sister, knowing that was what was best for Arkadia. Now the last person she ever believed would be in the position to propose to her turned to her, and she watched as Lexa's eyebrows rose.  
  
“Did your mother disown you?” she wanted to know, her tone telling the younger woman she already knew the answer. “Technically you're the Lady of Arkadia now so I'm not sure she even could, but has she even threatened it? Or your sister? Has she done the same?” Clarke didn't respond, her lips pursing. Lexa studied her for a moment and then nodded. “I thought not.” She shifted then, reaching out and letting her hand fall gently to the blonde's arm. “Clarke, I have never met someone more worthy of their title than you. After what you did for your father, what I saw you do for your friends... what you did for me. I don't know anyone who could possibly make a better ruler than you.”  
  
“I'm not a ruler,” Clarke told her stubbornly, her head beginning to shake and not stopping. “And I'm not the Lady of Arkadia. I can't be, not after what I did. Madi, she's our father's heir now, I'm just the daughter who became a whore.”  
  
“You're the daughter who got justice for her father's murder and stopped a coup,” Lexa corrected her but Clarke's head continued to shake. “That was just dumb luck,” she insisted, looking at the queen. “I was there to kill Cage, that's what I was going to do. I'm a whore and a killer, I'm not good enough to be the Lady of Arkadia let alone a, a...” She couldn't get the word out, it wouldn't form on her tongue no matter how many times she opened her mouth, so she finally gave up and just met green eyes that seemed to be able to see right through her.  
  
Lexa studied Clarke, an argument building in her chest as the blonde put herself down, but she let it die away. She could see shame in the lines at the corners of the younger woman's eyes, found it in the dip of her lips and it broke her heart a little that Clarke couldn't see just how amazing she was. If it were anyone else she heard saying these things about the blonde she would probably have them thrown in a cell but despite her personal feelings she knew there were plenty of people who shared Clarke's view. There were others who would ignore the heroics she'd had gone through in order to avenge her father and then save the queen and focus solely on the profession she'd fallen into in order to get what she needed, and the thought of it made fury flash briefly in her chest. Her eyes flickered over Clarke's face, reading everything there, and then she turned around, nodding to the younger woman as she did so.  
  
The queen left the balcony and stepped back over to the table, placing herself in front of the book she'd brought in with her. “I want you to look at this,” she said, eyes down on the leather cover. “Please.”  
  
Clarke hesitated but then moved over, making sure to keep a little bit of space between herself and the brunette. Being too close to Lexa made it harder to think and at the moment she needed to try to keep a clear head. Lexa opened the book and flipped a few pages in, stopping when she found what she must have been looking for. She slid it across the wooden surface until it was lying in front of Clarke, and almost against her will the blonde looked down at it.  
  
Black ink curled across the pages in neat handwriting and Clarke read over the words. She didn't find a story or poems but ideas, thoughts beautifully scribbled out before her. She flipped through the next few pages and found more thoughts, a different one with webs of possibilities on each page. Every page held a different header, such ideas as _Land Expansion, Work Creation, Rape Law_ s and many other problems she'd spent the past seven years seeing day to day written out with lists and rambling thoughts scrawled along the pages underneath them. Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, going over the pages more slowly now that she had an idea of what they held.  
  
“What...” she began but trailed off, not sure what to ask first. The possibilities in these pages baffled her, and she found herself looking up again, finding green eyes watching her closely.  
  
“They're my ideas,” Lexa informed her, nodding down to the book. “I started coming up with them after the first time you showed me around Polis. I saw all the problems in the city, problems I hadn't realized were so widespread, and ever since then it's seemed to be all I could think about. Well,” she stopped for a moment, clearing her throat shyly and glanced away, “almost all I could think about.”  
  
Clarke looked back at the book, fingers gingerly turning the pages. “This is... amazing, Lexa. These ideas are great.” The queen nodded again and returned her focus to the blonde. “They're a start,” she told her, taking a step closer to look at the book as well, “but just a start. Right now they're all just ideas. I need someone beside me who can help make them a reality.”  
  
“Lexa...” Clarke tried, wanting to think of a good reason to stop her before she began again and wishing she didn't feel like she needed to. Lexa didn't give her the time to find a reason though, telling her before she could, “There's no one else, Clarke. Can you think of anyone more suited to help me with this than you? Who else cares enough, who else understands why these changes are so important?”  
  
It was a valid argument and Clarke knew it. She'd seen first hand how little the nobility understood their people or even – worse – how little some of them cared. It infuriated her to hear them talk about how much the commoners owed them or to see those with so much walking all over those with so little, but what Lexa wanted from her couldn't be possible. No one would ever accept an ex-whore as a queen, not to mention the fact there had never been two queens before; it was just too much, too many things were wrong with it, and Clarke found herself shaking her head once again.  
  
“Lexa, this, us... You have to know it couldn't work.” She met stubborn green eyes, her heart twinging painfully as she stared at them. “These ideas are great, they are, but I'm just not... Choosing to, to marry me,” saying the words made Clarke dizzy, a giddiness she wished she could push away filling her chest because it just made it more difficult to try to talk the queen out of this, “No one would accept it. A queen is supposed to be with a king, not another queen. And even if there could be two queens, I couldn't be one of them. No one would follow me.”  
  
“I can think of thousands of people who would follow you,” Lexa argued, lifting an eyebrow. She gestured back towards the balcony. “People will hear about you, Clarke. Nothing stays quiet, especially not something as public as this. When the common-born learn that a noble woman lived among them for years, that will spread. The people who knew you personally will be able to tell others about who you are. Word will get out about how you put together a group of nobles and commoners to stop the duchess's plan. If they then find out that you not only returned to your rank but became queen, they'll all follow you. There will finally be someone on the throne who knows them, who understands them, and they'll support you. Honestly you'll probably have more support than even I will, once the people find out about this.”  
  
Clarke closed her eyes, her heart beating thickly in her throat. It sounded beautiful but she knew it wouldn't be that easy, couldn't possibly be that easy. Maybe the commoners would support her, but to most of the nobility she was a joke, a stain among their ranks. She could accept that for herself but wouldn't let her choices cause more trouble for Lexa than she'd already been through. “I'm honored, really, but I'm not the person who can help you with this.”  
  
“You're wrong Clarke,” Lexa told her, taking a single step closer to her. Her fingers itched to reach out to her, to brush over the small bruise beneath her eye she still carried from the fighting or to run through her shortened hair but she held it back. She didn't look away though, couldn't have torn her focus away from the blonde even if she'd wanted to. The younger woman bit her lips, her eyes closing as her head turned away a little and Lexa's lifted. “Name a person, a single person, who would make a better ruler than you, who would care more than you, and I'll marry them tomorrow.”  
  
She couldn't name anyone but even so Clarke shook her head. “Maybe the common-born would support it, but the nobles won't.” The younger woman looked back at the queen, telling her, “Titus and the rest of them, they'll be furious. At the least they'll think you've lost your mind.”  
  
“Maybe I have,” Lexa replied, not looking at all like she cared about that possibility. One shoulder lifted in a shrug, her tone mild as she continued. “I was never going to be able to make everyone happy with my union. Every house wants me to choose someone different: unless I take thirteen husbands someone will always be unhappy with my choice.” She looked at Clarke and the blonde saw something swimming in that green stare, something that made it suddenly nearly impossible to swallow. The queen's voice was quieter, more vulnerable as she said, “I'm doing something I've never really done before: I'm thinking about my own happiness. Until now I had never believed it worth considering when I thought about marriage. With you though... you would make me happy and be the best person to have beside me leading our people. With you Clarke I could have it all: co-ruler, lover and friend.”  
  
Of the three titles the last one hit Clarke the hardest and all of a sudden it became difficult to blink away the tears forming in her eyes. For some reason the thought of standing beside Lexa for the rest of their lives as everything they both needed and believed they could never truly have in a world where status and titles dictated a person's every move made Clarke's heart beat heavily. She had to bite her lip to keep her tears from falling, but then Lexa took another step closer to her and she couldn't help but look at her. Everything in the brunette's expression showed, emotions the younger woman didn't dare to name swimming in big eyes that stared at her, but more than anything before the queen's next words completely stole her breath away.  
  
“You told me you couldn't give me forever,” Lexa murmured, her eyes flickering between Clarke's. She could feel her heart opening and pouring its contents into her chest in a way she'd never felt before but for once she didn't fight it, just let it fill her completely. This time she couldn't stop herself from reaching out when her palm itched, and almost before she even knew what was happening her fingers slipped between the blonde's. She glanced down at their joined hands, catching Clarke doing the same at the edge of her periphery, and felt her lips twitch slightly. “Now I'm offering you forever. If you want it. I'd very much like to spend the rest of my life with the person I've fallen in love with.”  
  
An almost silent sob tore from the back of Clarke's throat at the word. Her eyes clenched shut as her heart ceased beating and instead seemed to start vibrating, the sensation filling her completely. Emotions swamped through her too thick to try to comb through and all she could do was let it fill her as she felt tears begin to prick again at the corners of her eyes. Any and all arguments she'd had died away in that moment as she decided to stop fighting against what she wanted more than anything and just let herself have it.  
  
“I can't decide who's the bigger fool,” she heard herself whisper, her voice breaking just a little as she fought to get the words out. Her eyes opened to catch Lexa's frown and the slight crease of her brow tugged at the blonde's heart. Her lips twitched into something resembling a smile, the motion small but nevertheless there as she continued in a shaky voice, “I don't know if it's the queen who fell in love with a whore, or... or the whore who fell in love with a queen.”  
  
All at once Lexa's eyes were shining and the look Clarke found in them made her heart shatter open. She stepped towards the blonde, one hand dropping lightly to the younger woman's waist while her other hand cupped her cheek. Lexa's thumb brushed lightly over Clarke's jaw as she murmured, “Maybe neither of them are fools as long as they love each other.” Clarke let out a wet laugh, her head automatically dipping into a nod, and then she was reaching out, grasping at the queen's waist and tugging her closer until she could bury her head into the crook of the brunette's neck, every ounce of fight draining out of her. “Maybe,” she heard herself whisper but then she felt Lexa's arms snake behind her back and hold her tightly and every other thought other than Lexa's touch trickled away. She didn't fight it when one of the queen's hands returned to her chin, stepping back just enough so that she could look up and meet green eyes swimming with the same love Clarke felt flooding her chest. She didn't second guess herself this time, didn't even think about it as she reached up, hands cupping Lexa's face and drawing her into a long, very overdue kiss. The second their lips connected something inside the blonde's chest loosened and all of a sudden she felt free again.  
  
Clarke's words had Lexa's heart soaring the second she uttered them, her touch had her skin burning, but her kiss sealed them together. Their lips met and Lexa felt herself settle, felt the nerves and fear and uncertainty she so often pushed down until she couldn't feel them anymore finally disappear entirely. One arm remained wrapped around the blonde's waist while the other moved up, her hand cupping Clarke's jaw and then their faces tilted and the kiss deepened until the queen didn't think she'd ever know anything more real than this other woman's touch. Somehow she knew without needing to say anything that they'd both been floating for days now, weeks, maybe even their entire lives, never able to quite find their footing on solid ground until this moment. Clarke grounded her and she could feel herself grounding Clarke, as though invisible ties bound them together. As long as she had Clarke by her side she had no doubt she would be able to do anything, and the thought of getting to spend the rest of her life with the blonde made it hard to breathe from elation. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen as their mouths remained connected to each other, but Lexa certainly wasn't going to let a little thing like breathing break her away from the woman she loved.  
  
The blonde was the one to finally break the kiss but she didn't go far. She pushed her body against Lexa's and felt the brunette's heart racing in her chest, possibly just as fast as her own. The queen's arms wrapped around her and a single tear slid down Clarke's cheek even as her lips curled into a small smile.  
  
“How do you do that?” she mumbled, her face nuzzled into the crook of Lexa's neck. The brunette shivered, Clarke's warm breath making her skin tingle. “Do what?”  
  
“Make the world spin,” she said, gripping her tighter and Lexa's smile softened as she held her just as tight.  
  
“I don't know,” she answered, eyes closing as she breathed in the younger woman's scent. “I'll let you know once I figure out when exactly you became my world.”  
  
Clarke let out a quiet, low laugh, the sound almost lost from how hard she was pressed against the queen's body. “Have any guesses?”  
  
“I'm pretty sure it was the moment you almost yelled at me in the middle of a room full of people.” Lexa's lips twitched before she dropped her head to Clarke's, her eyes closing as her cheek pressed lightly against blonde hair. “Could have been earlier though.” Something else that sounded very much like a laugh came from the blonde and it only made Lexa's heart beat harder as she marveled in it.  
  
“I'm glad you came after me that night,” Clarke informed her quietly, speaking into the older woman's neck. Now that she was in Lexa's arms again she had no desire to pull away, and instead she just tried to press closer. “And that you came to The Rig later. I'm just...” She couldn't think of any way to accurately describe how being with Lexa now just felt like she'd finally found the home she'd never believed she deserved so she pressed her lips to the queen's neck, more of a desperate touch than a kiss.  
  
That touch made Lexa shiver but she reveled in it, pressing a kiss to Clarke's head. “I will spend the rest of my life thanking all the gods for bringing me to you,” she whispered as her eyes closed. “Every single moment of every single day.”  
  
“I think it was me they brought to you,” Clarke argued, shifting just enough so she could meet Lexa's eyes without fully pulling away. Those eyes opened slowly and then she was staring once again into a beautiful emerald gaze she prayed she would spend the rest of her life getting lost in. “And I'm really glad they did.” The queen smiled at her and then the two women were kissing again and all either could do was hold onto the other while they let themselves get completely lost in the other person's touch.  
  
For years Clarke had been lost. She had endured more than any person should have to endure and had her heart broken by a world too cruel and a group of people too hungry for power. Life had thrown one challenge after another at her until she'd been sure she would crumble beneath it all, but now she stood in Lexa's arms with the queen's lips pressed against her own. Her fingers wound through dark hair so she could pull her closer, and in that moment Clarke knew she would do it all again, live through every horror life had thrown at her, just as long as she always ended up right here.  
  
Life was a crazy thing, but with Lexa by her side Clarke was ready to face it.


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go...

__

_Six Months Later_

Wells Jaha, minor lord of the Arkadian Hills, stood perfectly straight as he watched his best friend walk down the long carpet running the length of the Great Hall. Anyone who looked at him would be able to see the pride shining for his friend and vassal in his expression, but nobody was looking. Everyone in the hall stared at the blonde who walked with her head held high, her fingers gripping lightly at her long skirt and holding it up so it wouldn't trip her. It still felt strange to Wells to see Clarke in the beautiful green silk of her wife's house, only the blue and gray trimming along its edges reminding everyone that she had been the Lady of the Arkadian Hills before her marriage. Since she and Queen Alexandria had only gotten married the day before he figured it was only to be expected it would feel strange, but if it felt odd to Clarke too the blonde didn't show it. She practically glided down the aisle with her head held high, staring straight ahead of her without once glancing around her.  
  
Beside him Abby wept, a couple of tears streaking down her face even as her lips were curled into a beaming smile. He could see Madi on her mother's other side with tears in her eyes as well but they didn't fall, caught and holding on her eyelashes. The rest of the Arkadian nobles watched with pride as their previous lady passed them, everyone standing a little taller as Clarke went by. Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, Monty and Harper stood at the back of the Great Hall with the other servants and commoners in attendance but Wells didn't need to see them to know they would be beaming with pride for their friend as well.  
  
Not everyone in the room was as thrilled by this as the Arkadians. There were members of the thirteen houses that still despised the fact that Queen Alexandria had chosen Clarke as her consort. They had argued long and hard with the queen when she'd first announced her engagement with the returned noblewoman, some arguing that a queen needed a king, some declaring a woman who was once a whore couldn't run a nation, others claiming both. As the head of his family now Wells had been privy to many of those conversations and hearing them had always made his blood boil. The summer's gathering of the thirteen houses had been extended after the queen's announcement and for weeks everyone had argued, those who were dead-set against accepting a whore as their queen locking in debate with those who accepted it. More people than Wells might have expected aligned themselves with Clarke and the queen, Nyko and the Blue Cliff nobles instantly siding with them as did Monroe, the new Lady of Mount Weather nearly challenging everyone who dared to speak against the blonde. To everyone's surprise Lord Emerys had quietly sided with the queen's decision as well, reminding anyone who said anything that if it weren't for the blonde Nia might be the queen. The nobles of the Shallow Valley, Boudalan Mountains and Ingrona Plains had fought the hardest against it while those of the other houses mostly just sat back and wavered in their indecision. Finally the queen had brought an end to the whole debate, declaring that Clarke would be her consort and anyone else who had anything to say against it would be declared a traitor to the Kongeda. The sight of Nia's conspirators' heads rolling across the stage were still fresh in everyone's minds and at that they'd all shut up, many of them simpering in their anger.  
  
The queen had ended the arguments at just the right time, and then as the fall months slowly passed into winter everyone had made the trek to their own homes, aware that in a few short months they would all be called back to the capital to attend first their queen's wedding and then their new queen's coronation.  
  
Clarke and Wells had left Polis along with the rest of the nobility, and for the first time in seven years they'd finally been able to return home. They spent the winter months in the solitude of the Arkadian Hills, slowly reacclimating themselves to the lives they had left behind. Returning to his own fief had been a challenge for the young lord, the halls of his home filled with too many memories of his father and their life together, but eventually he managed to settle in. The servants and staff had walked on eggshells around him for the first month or so, fully surprised when he returned and the lord they'd expected did not, but slowly life took on some semblance of normalcy. Even so he'd spent much of the winter at the Griffin fief, far more comfortable with Clarke beside him and their friends' laughter and ridiculousness around them. Only there did he feel truly at home, and it was there that he finally began shedding some of the defenses he'd built during his life of travel. For the first time since the inn burned down he began to put on some weight again, finally able to eat again without feeling nauseous. The first time Clarke saw him after they split up to go to their respective homes she'd smiled in a way he hadn't seen in years and hugged him, whispering in his ear about how good he looked.  
  
She looked good too, but Wells could see that she never quite let down her guard even when surrounded by her friends and family. She looked most like the girl he'd known before the fire when she was with Madi, but it became painfully clear to Wells that Clarke would never be able to go back to the person she once was. Now she lived life more quietly, an observer first where once she'd jumped into action. He didn't know if the changes were good or bad or if they just were, but it tugged at his heart whenever he saw the mask slip into place along her expression.  
  
Right now though Wells knew Clarke's mask hid her nerves as she approached the thrones, and for once he was glad for it. She made her way steadily down the aisle and he watched her, never taking his eyes off her. When Clarke reached the dais she dropped to one knee, her skirts pooling around her, and dipped her head. Queen Alexandria stood on the dais alone, neither the prince nor her personal guard with her, both of them standing just off to the side of the dais. This ceremony was to be held between the two women alone as the rest of the nation watched, and Wells did just that as Queen Alexandria took a single step forward.  
  
“Clarke Woods of the Trikru Forest, formerly Clarke Griffin of the Arkadian Hills,” she began, her voice loud and even as it rang out across the hall. “You are here today to be made a crowned queen of the Kongeda.”  
  
“I am, Your Majesty,” Clarke stated, her head still down but voice loud. These were words that had been said dozens of times before but nevertheless they made the energy in the room spike, Wells feeling it all the way down to his bones.  
  
“As a queen your duty must first be to the people you lead,” Queen Alexandria continued, her voice never wavering as she looked down at her wife kneeling before her. “A queen is a servant to her people, and must always put their needs before her own. Can you do this?”  
  
“I can, Your Majesty,” Clarke told her, head still down. “As queen, I swear to put my people's needs above my own.”  
  
“As queen the people of the Kongeda will owe you their loyalty, and in return you will owe them the same,” the queen stated, reciting the next piece. “Will you give them this loyalty?”  
  
“I will, Your Majesty,” the kneeling blonde replied. “As queen, I swear to return my people's loyalty with loyalty, to never let their trust go unanswered with my own.”  
  
“Finally, as queen it will be your duty to protect the people of the Kongeda, to defend them against any and all harm, and to assist them with any help they may require.” The queen's eyes remained glued to the top of Clarke's head. “Do you accept this responsibility?”  
  
From where he stood, Wells could see Clarke's fingers curl into tight fists. “I do, Your Majesty,” she stated, her voice firm and loud enough so that even those at the very back of the room could hear it. “I swear on my name and my honor to spend the rest of my days protecting the people who serve me.”  
  
If he'd been looking at her, Wells might have noticed the way the corners of the queen's lips twitched. Undoubtedly he would have seen the pride and love for the blonde woman in green eyes that shined, but he couldn't look anywhere but at Clarke. The queen nodded formally, turning to lift the silver crown that sat on a green satin pillow on the throne that now stood directly next to her own. Holding it out in front of her, she said, “Rise, Lady Clarke.” Clarke did so, her head finally pulling up out of its bow as she stood, and then she met the queen's eyes. “Approach.”  
  
Clarke stepped up onto the dais and then bent forward a little and Wells thought his heart might just explode in his chest as he watched the queen gently place the crown on his best friend's head. “I, Queen Alexandria of the Kongeda, Uniter of the Thirteen Nations, hereby name you Queen Clarke of the Kongeda. I welcome you with an open heart to our royal ranks. May your days as queen be many, and may your rule be fair and just.”  
  
Wells watched Clarke rise again with the crown settled firmly on her head and swore he saw something in her shift. He couldn't easily see her face with her turned towards Queen Alexandria but if he could he knew there would be a new fierceness in her expression, a new set to her brow as her shoulders straightened. The moment she stood up straight Queen Alexandria smiled softly and held out her hand. “Join me, my love,” she said and Clarke took her hand. She stepped up onto the dais with the brunette and turned to face the rest of the room, and just as he'd suspected Wells found a new determination in blues eyes that swept the space in front of her. It smashed into him and took his breath away, in awe of the power he found in that blue gaze.  
  
Lord Titus shifted from his spot off to the side of the dais, stepping to the center of the steps in front of it. “All hail Their Majesties, Queen Alexandria and Queen Clarke!” He instantly turned back towards them and dropped into a deep bow, and then like a wave coursing through the room everyone present followed. Wells bent from the waist, dipping into the deepest bow he might have ever given, but nothing could quite make him look away from Clarke's face. She stood up there in front of everyone, taking the place he knew she deserved, and his heart broke open, pride spilling into his chest.  
  
She did it. 

***

The new crown perched on her head felt heavier than she knew it should. Realistically she knew it weighed only a few pounds, certainly nothing that should be making her neck ache, but Clarke couldn't help but feel like she might just crumble beneath it. She didn't let her discomfort with it show, just gripped the reins of her horse a little tighter as she waited for the procession to get started.  
  
“How are you doing?” she heard murmured beside her, and Clarke glanced over to see Lexa on her own horse beside her. Those green eyes she'd fallen in love with months ago searched her face and the younger woman actually felt herself relax just a little.  
  
“I'm fine,” she lied, pretending not to notice the way nerves swarmed around her gut. She hadn't been able to eat anything that morning and at the moment she was glad for it, positive that if she had it would be fighting to come back up now.  
  
One of Lexa's eyebrows rose, giving her a look as her lips curled into a soft smile.  
  
“No you're not,” she replied, amusement coloring her tone. “I remember what it was like to face my people for the first time as their queen.”  
  
“Well if you already knew then why did you ask?” Clarke demanded, rolling her eyes. It should have annoyed her that the motion only made Lexa's grin grow, but instead she felt her nerves settle just a little at the look. They settled even more when the brunette reached over, gently squeezing her thigh beneath the many folds of her long skirt.  
  
“Because I could,” she answered simply. “As your wife I get to ask you questions even when I know the answers to them.”  
  
The word caught in Clarke's mind and she felt her heart beat thickly, her nerves instantly pushed away just at the thought of their union. She reached down and took Lexa's hand in her own, slipping their fingers together and gave a brief squeeze. They hadn't yet been married for even twenty-four hours and the word still felt funny to her, but Clarke reveled in it. She was Lexa's wife and Lexa was hers, and for a second everything was pushed back as the two smiled at each other, their hands connected between them.  
  
“Ahem,” a voice coughed behind them and they both turned to see Anya ride up on Lexa's other side. An eyebrow lifted as she looked at the two of them, looking as though she were trying not to roll her eyes. “We're about to get started, Your Majesties. Maybe put the love-struck expressions away until we get back to the palace. You can shut yourself away from the world and enjoy your union then without making the rest of us nauseous.”  
  
Lexa's cheeks turned the very lightest shade of pink as she glared at her best friend and Clarke hid her smile behind her free hand. “I do not have a love-struck expression,” the brunette growled, her brow furrowing deeper as her best friend scoffed. “I don't!”  
  
Clarke couldn't help it: she let out a little laugh and the other woman turned her glare on her. Almost the moment green eyes met her own the expression softened, just proving Anya's point, and Clarke lifted their connected hands up. She pressed a quick kiss to the back of Lexa's knuckles, lifting an eyebrow as she told her, “You absolutely do, Lexa.” She dropped another kiss to her knuckles, lips twitching before she added, “If it makes you feel any better I'm sure I do too.”  
  
The idea that Clarke loved her instantly melted away Lexa's frustration and she knew the exact expression Anya had been referring to took over again. She tugged at their combined hands and it was her turn to drop a kiss to the blonde's knuckles, not taking her eyes off of the other woman as she did. “I suppose I am a little love-struck around you.”  
  
Beside them Anya rolled her eyes, grimacing. “I pity the Guards assigned to stand outside your room tonight,” she mumbled, her horse shifting beneath her, bored and ready to move. Clarke and Lexa shared a look, a teasing glint in the blonde's eye and an excited pull on the brunette's lips.  
  
Anya had been right when she interrupted them: they were just about ready to go. Within minutes Indra and Lincoln and three other Guards took their place in front of the queens, each of them sitting proudly in their saddles, and other Guardsmen fell in line on either side of the queens. Behind them sat the rest of the nobles, everyone joining in on the royal procession, and when Clarke turned slightly in her saddle she caught sight of her mother and sister only a few riders behind her. They were surrounded by the other Arkadian nobles and their soldiers, but Clarke didn't look at any of them as she happened to catch her sister's eye. Madi beamed up at her, giving her a little wave, and the blonde returned it. The pride she saw shining in her sister's eyes filled her, helped to fight back some of the nerves that had started fluttering again in her chest as everyone fell into place around them, and when she turned back around Clarke sat a little straighter. She bit her lip as she heard Indra shout in front of them, and then grasped tightly at the necklace hanging around her neck as the procession started forward. The blue pendant she still never took off helped calm her even further, and she took a deep breath before urging her horse forward.  
  
Crowds lined the streets immediately outside the palace and all the way through the city. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of their new queen. People pushed and shoved against each other, some watching in silence as the procession passed them while others shouted. Most people made sure to keep at least a little bit of distance between themselves and the horses, but any time someone tried to get a little too close to the royal party a Guardsman was there to urge them back.  
  
Clarke sat stiffly in her saddle as they slowly made their way into and through the city. For a few minutes she just stared forward, trying to show nothing but confidence in her new station, but before too long she found herself scanning the crowd. The further into the city they went the more faces she recognized, and soon she was biting her cheek. The baker she and her friends had always gone to when they had extra coin and were in the mood for something sweet smirked as she went by, shaking his head. Mistress Tover who had so often visited Niylah at The Rig held tightly to her child's hand as the little boy jumped up and down and gaped at the horses going by. Dotted throughout the crowds she saw the faces of many of her guests, men and women alike who had paid for her services and another round of nerves fluttered anxiously in her stomach. Most of them just cheered as they went by but a few of them smirked, glancing up and down at the blonde and shaking their heads.  
  
All of a sudden she stopped scanning, her eyes catching on familiar faces. The Rig's workers had taken up a spot in the crowd for themselves, everyone turning out to see the procession. Luna stood at the front with Derrick, and when she met the man's eyes he grinned up at her. Her old mistress dipped her head into a partial nod when Clarke looked at her, and the blonde nodded back. She gave everyone around them a shaky smile, the smile growing a little in confidence as they all erupted in cheers, arms shooting out and waving at her. Clarke waved right back, her own smaller than any of theirs but still noticeable to anyone watching.  
  
Beside the group of her old friends and family the new queen found even more familiar faces. Murphy and Emori stood beside the whores and Emori waved right along with them, beaming up at Clarke while Murphy stood beside her, looking about as happy as he ever did. When he caught the blonde's eye he nodded and Clarke returned it, and then her eyes shifted over to the people on their other side. Those who could often be found playing dice in the Dropship common room hooted and hollered beside the inn owners, and Clarke almost instantly met Cole's eyes, the big man standing right at the front of them all. He beamed up at her and then his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting out loudly, “All hail the Whores' Queen!”  
  
“All hail the Whores' Queen!” the crowd around him echoed and Clarke shook her head, her lips twitching.  
  
It wasn't the first time she'd heard the title: the story of everything she'd done had traveled just as swiftly as Lexa had said it would, and within a week of the public executions there had been at least three songs written about her. The most popular had been _The Whores' Queen_ , a lively tune that told about how she'd rallied dozens of whores and attacked the palace, striking down the evil duchess and saving the queen's life. According to the song Queen Alexandria had taken one look at her blonde-haired savior and fallen in love, pledging her love to her right then and there. It was a gross exaggeration of what had really happened and bore very little truth to it, but before long it became the truth the common people believed. Clarke shook her head the first time she heard the song, her heart aching during the verses that spoke of the whores who had died for their queen, but there was little she could do to change it; by then the song had spread beyond Polis, rippling across the nation, and all she could do was accept her new title.  
  
As people began to pick up the title into a chant, Clarke felt herself naturally sit straighter in her saddle. All at once the crown on her head didn't feel quite as heavy, instead felt a bit like it was grounding her, and she lifted her head higher. People shouted out their love for the Whores' Queen and she sunk into the cheering, letting the title fill her. At first she'd thought it a strange title, one maybe she should even be ashamed of, but now she wore it proudly as their procession marched on. She was a noblewoman who had become a whore and then a whore who had become a queen, and she was ready to spend the rest of her life fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Clarke felt this resolution settle into her spine and all at once her nerves instantly left her.  
  
Riding beside her, Lexa glanced over at the blonde, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she watched something change in her. Their people screamed out their love for their new queen and Lexa wanted to scream it along with them, a love she'd never believed she'd have filling her completely. She could see Clarke settling into her role, saw it in the glint of her eye and shift of her spine, and the power that suddenly radiated off of the blonde stole Lexa's breath away. The previous summer she'd dreaded having to choose someone to share her responsibilities with, but now she didn't think it could be possible to be any happier. They still had too many challenges ahead of them to count she knew, but she didn't doubt that together they could accomplish anything.  
  
In the middle of their city the two queens rode, heads held high as all around them their people cheered, screaming their love for them. Their Guards rode around them and the nobility rode behind them, but in that moment Clarke and Lexa were lost in the cheers of their people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So "The Whores' Queen" has ended. It's strange for me, but I can say whole-heartedly that I will most definitely be visiting this universe again. I don't have an actual sequel planned yet, but I do have a couple of one-shot ideas I'm trying to spin into a sequel. I am 99.9% positive I'll be writing one of Clarke and Lexa's coronation night together. That wasn't the plan, but now I think I need to write that because it was fun to hint at it in the epilogue and because let's be honest, there totally wasn't enough Clexa smut in this story.
> 
> That all being said, before I can spend much more time in this universe I need to get back into my other stories that have been on hold for a while. If you're also reading those, give me a couple of weeks and then expect an update to "Continuum" followed shortly (hopefully) by "Connections." 
> 
> Thank you all, and I hope you've enjoyed "The Whores' Queen!"


End file.
